


The Lost  Dragonborn

by FalinMede



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Admittedly a lot of characters, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 156,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalinMede/pseuds/FalinMede
Summary: After 2 centuries in Coldharbour, Syra finds herself released in Skyrim, in the midst of war and all manner of controversy. As she tries to find a place and rediscover who she is, shadows work behind the scenes, pushing her to a confrontation she wants no part of, no matter what allies she faces it with.





	1. Welcome To Skyrim

**Author's Note:**

> This has been out awhile, the majority of the chapters posted on DeviantArt at Blacknightmarerose and Fanfictionnet under xxxAriha. I'm expanding. Go me.

The others in my wagon trembled with terror. I sat, eyes downcast, listening to my breath in the brisk air. What season was it? I couldn't remember. But chill clung to air even as the sun pierced the fog that had clung to us. I lifted my head, letting the dancing rays glitter in my blue eyes. Slowly, I rose, ignoring the guard's growl, ordering me to be seated. I stood amongst my wagons companions, my torn and old shift flapping along with my curling black hair, staring at Helgen. The place where I was going to die.

 

"Stay here and don't do anything troublesome," the guard ordered, slamming the cell behind us.  
I looked at the cuffs around my wrists before glancing upwards into the face of my brothers in chains. They were talking amongst themselves, pondering the war. I didn't understand the politics of this place. I was lucky to even understand the language. A dark chuckle filled my ears and I cringed, bracing for impact.  
"This is Skyrim," said the all too familiar voice of Molag Bal.  
I remained silent, waiting and he went on.  
"This is my gift to you for lasting all those years trapped within Oblivion."  
My hands curled into fists as I remembered Oblivion and it's monsters. It was an awful place.  
"Enjoy."  
I almost smiled. Enjoy? I was about to be executed for unknown reasons and he was urging me to enjoy it.  
"What's your story, stranger?"  
The question was directed at me by the Nord across from me. His question drew the other's attention and suddenly, I was being scrutinized. I knew what they saw. They saw a Dark Elf whose skin was too light. Whose features were too Nord.  
"I was trapped in Oblivion after displeasing Molag Bal," I replied. "After an immeasurable amount of time, he granted me my freedom and here I am."  
I waved my hands, indicating the cell. I heard a chuckle from behind me and glanced over my shoulder. Some of the guards were gathered behind me, laughing.  
"Molag Bal?" one laughed. "HA!"  
I turned back to my cell mates, a dry smile in place.  
"Believe it or not," I said. "It's more interest than I'm sure a god has shown you."  
One of the guards, a female, took a threatening step forward. I stood, refusing to be intimidated.  
"Captain! Do not allow her to get under your skin!" a man ordered.  
The woman paused.  
"Yes, General," she said, backing off.  
She cast a final glare over her shoulder though, as she did. I sat back down, leaning against the bars.  
"Impressive," one of my fellow prisoners remarked. " You've got fire."  
I studied him, taking note of his blue and golden brown robes.  
"What a strange uniform," I remarked.  
His lips quirked upwards.  
"Stormcloak uniform," he replied.  
"I will never understand this world," I decided, adding a sigh.  
The men just laughed.

 

My confusion continued. They let us out to wander, in chains, to prevent us from running. I glanced around, eyeing the moon. I hadn't seen it in decades.  
"Never did explain your story, girl."  
I glanced to my left, to the armor wearing man beside me. He was one of the guards.  
"And what part of my story did I not explain?" I inquired.  
"You never explained what you did to displease Molag Bal," he replied.  
I smiled his way, my own thoughts drifting back to my many sins, the sins committed before I had crossed Molag Bal.  
"That is my secret," I declared, grinning.  
"I see, Though it won't be your secret for long. Soon, the gods will share it with you."  
My eyes went to the moon again and I sighed.  
"I know that well."  
I wandered away from him, to the stone wall that surrounded Helgen, running my hand along it. Looking for a way out. Foolish but admirable of me, I decided.  
"Does no good to do that. Also, it makes the guards nervous. Makes 'em watch you harder."  
The voice was deep and wolfish, sending shivers up my spine. I turned a bit, face to face with the shadows and a man hidden by them.  
"And who am I speaking to?" I asked.  
A wolfish grin broke through the shadows.  
"Imagine the surprise. The Dark Brotherhood gets a contract not to kill but to rescue a target," he chuckled.  
"The Dark Brotherhood?" I repeated.  
I matched the grin.  
"That's a name I haven't heard in a long time."  
Almost 200 years to be exact.  
"Sithis be praised," I murmured.  
"Unfortunately, our leader isn't willing to let you off so easily," he went on.  
"Oh really?"  
So much for my rescue. The shadows chuckled.  
"You want out? I left a horse just outside these walls hidden in the forest. Get out and to the horse. He'll know where to take you."  
"How kind of you," I quipped.  
The laughter was all I heard as the man faded away. I, meanwhile, glanced around, fully studying Helgen. Perhaps there was an escape route. I just didn't see it.

 

I never got to look more in depth. We prisoners were ordered inside and locked away for the night, woken up at the crack of dawn Apparently, the other prisoners had arrived. Despite my impending death, I couldn't keep the wolfish grin off my face as I was forced forward ,on limbs still shaking off sleep, in a most ungentlemanly manner. The female captain watched me, much more than she watched any other prisoner, almost as if she expected me to escape. Well, she wasn't entirely wrong. Still, I could practically see her fingers itch as she watched me walk by her.  
"Hadvar!" she barked.  
A man, the one from last night who'd further questioned me, hurried over. She nodded my way and I kept my back to her, listening in.  
"That prisoner, her clothes are more tattered than they were the night prior. Was there trouble?" she asked.  
"Not to my knowledge," Hadvar replied.  
I smirked. So like a female to notice an alteration to a dress. I'd ripped the already worn fabric so that it would be easier for me to climb and run. If I was going to pull off my plans, I was going to need as much mobility as possible. My eyes went to the executioner. He was a towering man. He was also blocking on of the guard towers. That would be my escape point. From there on to the wall. Hopefully, I could swipe a sword before hand. Gone was the timid woman who been dropped into this world. Now, I was my usual escape artist self.  
"Do not be foolish, woman," a voice whispered to me.  
I let my eyes drift, finding a man towering above me, dressed the same as many of my fellow prisoners.  
"There is no point to escaping. Face your death with your head held high."  
I chuckled.  
"Foolish man. You have no idea what I can do," I bragged.  
Though it was true. He just had to stand back and watch. Instead, though, he shook his head at my "foolishness" and stepped away from me. Meanwhile, the executions were continuing on their way. I kept my face impassive as I walked forward, watching a man crouch at the block. I almost felt bad. But such was the way that war went. I stopped beside a man who wore no uniform. He was gagged but still he managed a nod my way which I took as a sign that he too knew my plans and he, unlike the other man, approved. I nodded back, glancing down at my bound hands. It was the only complication. There were cries of objection which I assumed meant that a head has just rolled. I wasn't wrong. I noticed, to my right, a priestess. When had she shown up? My eyes narrowed at her. There was something off about her, something not quite right. Meanwhile, she glanced my way, a secret smile in place. That's when I knew for sure. I was being watched by the Dark Brotherhood. Surprise was foolish. I should have expected that someone would be watching. I really had to meet the leader of the Brotherhood.  
"The Dark Elf next!" the captain declared, snatching my gaze away from the fake priestess to the execution.  
She was looking straight at me and a flash of annoyance went through me. Dark elf? She was only half right. A soldier came to my side, nudging me forward. I cast a glance at him, observing the dagger at his hip. That could be my solution to my bound hands. With a final glance over my shoulder at the fake priestess, I made my move, ducking low and slamming my shoulder into the soldier's side. He was temporarily knocked off balance and I grabbed his dagger, quickly scurrying out of his reach. I sliced through the bonds, ducking around an approaching soldier. An archer readied her bow, aiming right at me. I didn't hesitate for a second, running towards her, dagger ready.  
"What is that!?" a voice cried.  
A loud roar pierced the fog as the ground shook. Instinct made me look up, finding the winged figure above. My eyes widened, Oblivion flashing into my head. Familiar wings beat the air above me. When I blinked though, a wave of fire was flying straight at me. A strong arm seized my waist, lifting me off the ground and carrying me out of the way. It was the man with the gag.  
"Put me down!" I commanded, struggling as he ran for one of the guard towers.  
He ignored my protests and we exited the chaos of the outside. Then and only then did he put me down. I retreated a few steps, dagger pointed at him.  
"Fool! Do you know who you point that dagger at?"  
The voice alerted me to the presence of the other men in the room. Looking over my shoulder, I discovered about seven other prisoners and only one was female. On the brightside, none of them were armed to my knowledge. But therein laid the problem. I couldn't tell if they had weapons. And even if they didn't, they had numbers on their side. I turned back to the man at the end of my dagger. They were my fellow prisoners and they could be distractions from the soldiers outside. I stepped forward, slicing through the man's bindings.  
"No, I don't know who I point this dagger at. But perhaps he can enlighten me," I said, reaching for his gag.  
I didn't bother to cut it. I just yanked it off.  
"Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm," he said. "And you?"  
"Syra," I replied.  
He nodded his acknowledgement before turning to one of his men, the one, I noted who'd advised me against escape.  
"Ralof, do the men have their weapons?" he asked.  
"Yes, my Jarl," Ralof replied.  
I was glad I hadn't attacked anyone, as they brandished swords and war axes. The female remained weaponless.  
"What of her?"  
Apparently, Ulfric noticed her as well.  
"She's an archer, my Jarl. It was just hard to get the bow here but she has arrows."  
I smirked just a bit. An archer with no bow. It was so sad I just couldn't help it.  
"Leave it to me," I said.  
They all turned to me. I just crossed my arms.  
"Look, we run out, we snatch a bow and we get out of here. Easy enough," I remarked.  
"Easy? How can you say it's easy?" the female archer demanded.  
"Everything is easy compared to Oblivion. Let me go first and I guarantee, you'll have your bow."  
I looked at Ulfric when I said this, because I figured his word would be law. He studied me a moment before nodding. I stepped around him and then bolted from the tower, my eyes scanning for an archer. I wasn't disappointed. One stood, her back to me, firing arrows at the dragon overhead. I went directly at her, catching her shoulder and sliding the dagger across her throat. She let out a gurgled cry, dropping to the ground. With a grim smile, I bent, picking up her bow and glancing back at Ulfric and his troops. A few were staring at me in shock, as if they couldn't believe I'd done such a thing so easily. In response, I tossed the bow their way and then turned and began running. The fake priestess was gone, I noted, but I didn't have time to worry about that. Despite the chaos, I crept at a pretty slow pace, to avoid detection, taking out any soldiers on my way. I even ran into some of Ulfric's boys but they met my dagger. Bottom line, no one was spared. I made it to Helgen's gate, stabbing my dagger into the gate, using it to pry the gate open. It was a lot stronger than I thought it would be but I managed to open it enough to slip out. As I ran down the very path that had delivered me to Helgen, I heard the dragon overhead but ignored the warning. I just needed to keep running.


	2. The Girl With Murder in Her Eyes

Girl in the water. That's what they were calling me. I didn't know where I was. I heard talk that it was some village or town within the bounds of some place called Whiterun. It had something to do with the river. I wish I knew but I refused to ask and was still a little hesitant to let them know that I wasn't completely witless. Still, I suspected the woman who'd fished me from the water knew I was smarter than I let on. She watched me from time to time, shushing her husband if he began talking about High Elves. I almost wanted to smile at such a familiar term. Such pretensions and pompous asses they were. Of course they would still be around. So long as High Elves existed, they would make a bad name for the other Mer species. Or so my mother claimed. Father had always just laughed at her harsh words, when he bothered to show his face at all.  
"Water lady!" the child exclaimed.  
I turned my head to look down at her. She was an odd one, always running about and bringing me back things. As if I really was from the water. She was shoving lavender in my face, one of many herbs the brat called a pretty flower. I took it, if only to avoid having lavender shoved up my nose and rose off the porch I sat on. She immediately began following me, like a dog follows its master. I wasn't going to reveal myself so early, thus I could not object as I trailed to the water's edge. Damn those wolves for chasing me into the current. They'd startled my horse, the one so graciously left for me by the Brotherhood, who'd thrown me into the river in its panic to escape. I still had marks from the razor sharp teeth of the slaughterfish. I see those tenacious buggers were still around too. Leaving behind my little shadow, I waded into the water, going far enough that it was up to my waist. My wounds stung, burns left where my wrist irons had chaffed and left angry red soars.  
"Water lady!" the girl cried.  
Angrily, I turned back to her, to snap at her so she'd shut up. Last second though, I bit my tongue. She was waving at me but also pointing to a nearby troupe of soldiers. Looks like it was time to get out of the water. With speed I didn't know I possessed, I splashed out, following the girl along the dust trail that was the town's road. We were back on her front porch seconds before the soldiers marched into town. As they trekked past us, I watched them evenly, a small smirk coming to my face, unable to stop myself from wondering why they were here.

 

"Listener."  
My body reacted with that one word. That one title. Just like that, I knew, beyond a doubt that I stopped breathing. Even in the deep recesses of my mind, I knew it was Her doing. That she, after years, after decades, had felt my return. And didn't care. As far as she was concerned, I never left. I was still hers to command and she fully intended to make use of me.  
"Yet another child has prayed to their mother," she rasped.  
I fought against her, wanting to relish in this sleep. It was still new to me, sleeping without having to be fully aware of the threats around me. Not having to worry about the pesky scamps or Molag Bal's ever random visits. I was free. He'd freed me, however temporary. Was she so intent on taking it away from me?  
"Go to Riften and await night. Kill the first thief you see. So begins a contract, bound in blood."  
Something was off. Her orders were so general. That had never happened. My eyes opened immediately and I sat up. Across the room slept the family, so trusting and naïve to the fact that their guest was the former Listener, sworn to serve the Night Mother as well as Sithis, the Dread Father. I rose, silent, creeping towards the door. The Night Mother was not one to be kept waiting.

 

I stole a guard's horse. Simple as that. And all that poor fool will remember is a bottle of ale and some charming company. I followed the road, rather than the river, which was hard to see during the night but I found myself in the company of a caravan of Khajiit, heading for some city they called Whiterun. Rather than travel alone, I tagged along, up until they began setting up shop outside the city walls. That's where I drew the line. I left my stolen horse at the stables and headed for the city. As I passed through the first gate, I could feel the guards' eyes on me as I progressed. I almost grinned but did my best to look innocent, as if I was just some brainless wench come to visit the city. Resistance came at the last set of gates.  
"Sorry, no one can enter the city," the guard declared, stopping me.  
"What?" I asked. "That's ridiculous!"  
"You can enter," the other guard said. "If you want to spend the night in the jail."  
I could feel my face growing red with anger. How dare he! No, how dare they turn me away!  
"By order of the Ja-"  
"Hail, Companions!" the second guard said, cutting off the first.  
I jumped as a pair of heavily armored Nords passed me. One was female and she paused, studying me. Her partner paused as well, his eyes only on her.  
"Aela?" he prompted.  
Aela, the female Nord, raised one hand, telling him to hold on. After a moment, she offered me a smile.  
"I'm glad you finally came to see me," she declared.  
She turned to the guards.  
"I know the Jarl has prevented strangers from entering the gates but this is my late brother's wife," she declared. "She finally saved enough to come to Skyrim and I have offered her sanctuary in Whiterun until she is able to care for herself."  
"Why didn't she just say so?" the second guard asked.  
I had the feeling he'd be the hardest to convince, though I noticed Aela's partner eyeing me suspiciously.  
"I was unaware that I'd be turned away with such harshness," I lied. "I was not so sure that my dear sister-in-law's name would carry so much weight."  
Aela's heavily armored arm swung over my shoulders, a mock embrace that made me tense up, though I hid it with a weak smile.  
"And now you see it does. Thank the gods that I was just coming in or you would have stood here all night."  
She nodded at her partner who made his way towards the heavy gates, pushing them open as he did. Aela led me after him, her arm still around me. Behind us, I could hear the gates creak close but still Aela held me, leading me along.  
"I thank you for the help," I whispered lowly, trying to free myself of the weight of her arm.  
She held fast, though, eyes zoning in on mine.  
"I looked into your eyes and saw that of a murderer," she whispered back.  
Her partner stopped, glancing over his shoulder, as if he'd heard every word. There was a look in his eyes, an animalistic one that sent every nerve in my body into overdrive. It was a look I knew well and I grinned at that look.  
"Werewolves," I chuckled lowly, letting darkness mingle with my words.  
Aela's eyes widened but she said nothing, urging me forward at a faster pace.  
"I'm right, aren't I?" I gloated, knowing full well that at least he was a werewolf.  
I wasn't sure about Aela.  
"How about this?" I led with. "Let me go now and no one ends up with a dagger in their neck?"  
I leaned closer to Aela, nestling my nose in her hair so that I could speak in her ear.  
"I think we both know that I could easily slay any number of guards. Shall we test out my theory?"  
Aela's eyes lit up with fire and I cursed myself, knowing I'd said the wrong thing.  
"You forget," she growled, the sound more animal than human. "You would have to get through me first."  
Her grip tightened to the point where she was almost choking me as she dragged me away.

 

As soon as they led me into what I suspected was their headquarters, Aela released me.  
"Big mistake," I growled, turning on her.  
To my surprise, the male, her partner was standing in my way. He looked down on me, as if daring me to continue my attack. I chose to back off.  
"I'll go tell Kodlak," Aela reported. "Farkas, keep an eye on her."  
With that, Aela strode away, a small smile on her lips. Farkas, meanwhile, continued to stare at me.  
"Problem, mutt?" I snapped.  
He said nothing in response, still staring as if trying to memorize every detail about me. It made sense though. I probably would have done the same thing but that did not mean I excused him from doing it.  
"See something you like, wolf?" I inquired, looking at him from beneath my lashes.  
He grunted, a cross between amusement and disbelief before his eyes drifted to a free chair. I followed his gaze, realizing that he wanted me to sit.  
"If you think that I'm just going to roll over and obey, you're crazy!" I snarled, lowly, so that only he and I could hear.  
Unless there were other werewolves around.  
"I may have the eyes of a killer," I went on, still in hushed tones. "But that does not mean I came here to kill!"  
"Then what," Farkas asked, his voice as low as mine. "Did you come here for?"  
"You would believe me if I told you," I proclaimed.  
"That is for us to decide," Aela declared, announcing her return.  
She was smiling.  
"Kodlak wants to meet her."

 

"This is her?"  
Kodlak was a Nord. I realized that as soon as I saw him. He watched me with wary eyes, studying my movements, which were limited by Aela and Farkas ensuring that I was secure between them. Standing a few feet away from Kodlak and his "dinner guest" was a High Elf. She kept her back to us, fussing with some books while seemingly organizing them. She cast a sly glance over her shoulder though, her light purple eyes studying me with one look before she looked away again.  
"Yes, Kodlak," Aela replied. "The girl with murder in her eyes."  
I smirked.  
"Yes, turn me over to the guards on the grounds that I have murder in my eyes," I chuckled. "They'll surely act on that."  
Kodlak's eyes narrowed at my words. I could see that he saw the truth of my words but was reluctant to let those under his command down.  
"You misunderstand. The guards serve the Jarl," he said. "We serve the people. We also protect them. Aela was right to bring you before us, if only for us to ask your intentions for Whiterun."  
"Whiterun?" I repeated.  
I kept forgetting where I was. I had been so focused on this Riften place the Night Mother had assigned that I had not thought to remain aware of any other place.  
"I have no intentions for this place except a warm bed for the night," I admitted.  
"Something I'm sure we can provide, given the trouble we caused her," remarked the High Elf.  
She turned, facing the group and smiling.  
"Lilith is right, of course," Aela relented. "I did inform the guards that she was my kin. It would be strange to turn her away."  
Kodlak nodded at Lilith.  
"As always you remind us of ourselves," he praised.  
He looked at me.  
"You are welcome to stay as long as you need," he went on. "Provided you do not prove to be a threat."  
I smiled, trying to look innocent. I was the biggest threat in the room.  
"I'll show her where she can stay," Lilith announced.  
She smiled at Farkas and Aela, nudging them so that I had my space before she guided me from the room. As soon as those doors closed though, she turned to me, her smile gone.  
"Allow me to make one thing very clear, Dunmer," she said, her eyes flashing. "If you do anything to harm or seduce my beloved Farkas, I will turn you into bonemeal so fast, you won't know what hit you!"  
Smiling again, she glanced over her shoulder at the approaching Nord who was almost an exact replica of Farkas.  
"Vilkas, on the other hand," she said, a bit closer to me now. "You may use him."  
"I thank you for the permission," I retorted.  
"I know where you come from," Lilith whispered.  
Her eyes twinkled, with the knowledge of every little secret she had.  
"Oblivion made you colder. Perfect for Molag Bal. Do not let him make you so ignorant to the needs you have as a woman," Lilith instructed.  
She turned back to Vilkas, who stood before us now, as we still blocked Kodlak's office.  
"Welcome home," she greeted.  
He nodded at her, then his eyes drifted to me.  
"And who is this?" he asked, really looking.  
I almost wondered if Lilith had put suggestions into his mind as well.  
"I didn't catch her name," Lilith admitted. "Never fear, Vilkas. She'll be staying a few days."  
With that, Lilith led me away, a soft chuckle emanating from her. I found her far more unnerving than the most gruesome of creatures I'd seen in Oblivion.

 

The Night Mother left me to my rest rather than urge me onwards to my goal. She was acting rather strange but I relished the rest. I would never return to the deep sleep I'd once enjoyed before upsetting Molag Bal but I enjoyed the sleep I had. I awoke hours later, to find the room empty, different from the night prior when Lilith had guided me to the room with four beds and explained that I need only pick one. So I had, glad that she returned to Farkas. I sat up in the bed, swinging my feet to the floor but not getting up just yet. But my relaxation seemed to be on hold. Aela clomped into the room, her eyes finding me instantly.  
"Good! You're awake!" she said in greeting.  
I rose to meet her, glaring at her. While I was grateful, or at least I had been, that she had vouched for me, her civilian arrest was bothersome. She seemed undeterred by my sour expression, offering me a bundle of clothes.  
"You said you had no business here, which means your plans lie elsewhere. You shall need money and since you are not a Companion, but a guest, we have found you work at the Inn," Aela explained. "Hulda will be glad to have you until she finds more permanent help."  
I studied the clothes she'd handed me, yet another dress, one meant for a bar maid though.  
"Change fast," Aela urged. "And we might manage to scrounge you up some food."

 

The uniform fit me well, more snug in some areas than I would have liked.  
"Degrading," I snarled as Aela led the way into the main hall.  
She laughed at my that.  
"Oh but imagine what Vilkas would think!"  
I glared but she blabbered on, not at all bothered by the murder in my eyes anymore. What had this Vilkas done?  
"He could not stop asking after you, last night."  
"Riveting tale," I grumbled, trying to cross my arms over my breasts, acting as though I was ignoring the stares from two of Aela's companions.  
I suspected they stared even after we had passed them. As I said, the uniform was snug.  
"Here, take this seat," Aela urged, gesturing to one.  
She sat in the seat next to it, tearing into the bread before her as though she were an animal. Across from me, far enough away that she could not touch me sat Lilith. She was speaking to Farkas, one hand on his shoulder. I suppose being married to a werewolf made one possessive of their spouse.  
"I suppose you noticed their bond," Aela remarked.  
I kept my eyes on the happy couple, ignoring Aela. She was not one to be deterred though.  
"I suppose Lilith warned you against seducing him."  
"She advised me that Vilkas would suit my needs," I replied.  
Aela laughed.  
"Oh, she is not fond of her brother-in-law and he is not fond of her. I shall say no more though."  
Pity. The irate woman was just starting to arouse my curiosity. I almost asked her why she would say no more when the subject of our conversation sat beside me.  
"Good morning," Aela greeted.  
"Good morning to you as well," Vilkas replied.  
His eyes were drawn to me, sweeping over what he could see of my body. There was a heat in his gaze, one of a man who had never seen a woman. I smiled his way, trying to match his intensity. Perhaps, Lilith was correct. Perhaps I was neglecting my needs as a woman.

 

If being the Listener, or just a member of the Dark Brotherhood, taught me anything, it is that the world is an evil place. Good people can only survive so long before they are inevitably destroyed by a greater evil. Hulda was a good woman. She was kind to me, though I could feel her watching me. Or perhaps she was watching the bard. He'd cornered me in the kitchen but had quickly learned the error of his ways. But his touch had left me more…aware. For so long, I had been trapped in Oblivion, never seeing another soul besides ones already in tatters. Yet now I was free, for however long, and basic human needs were returning. Lilith was right. Molag Bal had constructed me into the perfect vessel for his evil deeds, taking away my usual mannerisms and leaving behind only the ones which would ensure both survival and the destruction of potential threats, no matter the unlikelihood that some people would not fit such criteria. But Molag Bal had made one error, forgetting that such things, such needs, would return to me. I had begun to believe Lilith was Molag Bal himself, watching me. Upon my return to Jorrvaskr, I spotted Farkas and Lilith, sitting beside a tall statue, enjoying each other's company. I briefly watched them before entering Jorrvaskr. Exhaustion was overwhelming me and I merely wanted to return to my bed, cursing Aela for this job. I was an assassin. I did not serve men their mead. I slaughtered them in their beds and sometimes on the street. The other Companions were gathered around the table, talking, drinking and eating. Aela's gaze found me and she left her conversation, making her way to my side.  
"You look tired," she remarked.  
She almost seemed amused.  
"Certainly serving mead is not so strenuous."  
She was laughing at me!  
"Certainly you have never done an honest day's work," I snapped.  
"Ha! I protect Skyrim's people!" Aela argued, still in good spirits.  
She sound drunk. I noticed her leering at me, as though she were really studying me.  
"Perhaps you do require a man's attention," she mused. "You are in the foulest of moods."  
"I need no man!" I spat. "Some ale and you shall see my spirits lift."  
"I shall see to it they do!" Aela declared, throwing her arm around me.


	3. Sadness and Sorrows

Ale dulled the senses. It tasted foul and smelled worse, both going down and coming up. But Aela, I will admit, was much like my former best friend, lost to me not by time but by jealousy. As I watched Aela, surrounded by her comrades, I felt an urge to join their circle but scolded myself. Had I not learned my lesson well enough from Kaya, who'd been let in only to begin to resent the accomplishments awarded me when she thought they should have been hers. The last step had been when the Night Mother herself had named me Listener, not even acknowledging Kaya as Keeper, a position she desperately pined for because of her love of both our Mother and our Dread Father. I cared for neither position. So long as I had gold in my purse and a bed in which to sleep, I would fulfill my contracts so long as they came. I closed my eyes against the memory of that day in the Imperial City when she had attacked me and left me no choice but to end her life right there. The feelings of utter betrayal had weighed on me since then and, for the brief time before my imprisonment, I had never let another so close to me as Kaya had been.  
"Do you find much comfort in your solitude?"  
My eyes opened, focusing on Lilith. Her smile was dry and a bit sarcastic. I noted that her hands were empty of ale or mead and that Farkas had joined the circle. She noticed me watching him over her shoulder.  
"I let him indulge to a point," she admitted. "We don't reside here and we so rarely get to visit that it's refreshing to be with family."  
"Why bother to tell me this?" I demanded.  
"I told you earlier, had you been listening," Lilith replied. "I know who you are."  
I said nothing in reply, waiting for her to go on.  
"So few want to acknowledge the Daedra but they are quiet a threat, are they not?" Lilith asked. "I particularly like observing Molag Bal. And he has shown much intrigue with me."  
My eyes widened. I had heard of such people before my imprisonment. People that, while they did not worship the Daedric Princes, they were highly favored by them.  
"He has told me much about you but not how it is you displeased him," Lilith mused.  
I could see her digging for the answer but trying not to be obvious. I let my gaze turn hard and angry, so that it would cut like steel.  
"That… is none of your concern!" I snapped.  
I slammed my ale down, standing, a bit unsteady, and briskly leaving her to her musings amongst the noise of the suddenly too crowded banquet hall. I went to the living quarters, which were, thankfully, empty. I could not stand it all. The revealing uniform, the noise of drunken Nords and the commands of my body, urging me to do so many different things at once were overwhelming and it was beginning to drive me mad. And then there was Lilith, who intrigued, terrified and infuriated me. Her own urgings made me wonder if perhaps she worked for Molag Bal, rather than the mere conversations the two apparently had.  
"Is all well with you?"  
The voice caught me by surprise, my attention lifting from my self pity to Kodlak. Somehow, he'd snuck up on me, appearing as if by magic.  
"Were you drinking as well?" I asked.  
He shook his head, as if saddened that he was not acting like a drunken imbecile. With some anger, I realized that I had been among that crowd as well. Kodlak was watching me, his eyes steady.  
"It is exhausting, is it not?" he asked.  
I said nothing, wondering what he was getting at.  
"Lilith informed me of your circumstances."  
"Lilith would," I grumbled.  
I sighed.  
"I do not require pity," I said. "Much like prison, I served my time."  
Kodlak nodded, as if he understood. As if he'd seen the things I had seen.  
"Lilith and Farkas will be departing soon," Kodlak informed me. "Tomorrow, to be precise. You are welcome to their room as early as tonight. They have decided to stay at the inn."  
His eyes found mine, the wisdom behind them overwhelming me for a moment.  
"An experience like that leaves no on unscarred. There is no shame in weakness. Only shame in the denial of that weakness."  
He nodded at me, informing me of the location of my new room and then left me, returning to his own chambers. Weakness? I had no weakness because in this world, I had no attachments. I was not meant to exist and I didn't. How was that weakness? My anger stirred once again, I decide it was time to sleep before someone else found me.  
Once more, Aela came to me as soon as I woke up. I was impressed actually. She was no light weight, able to drink, and drink she had, staying up much later than I, yet still she awoke before me.  
"Do not expect much activity tonight," she warned, escorting me out.  
She was heavily armored and one of the companions joined us as we left. Perhaps she too had a job. As I parted ways with Aela, I was surprised, though not pleasantly, to run into Lilith and Farkas. Lilith smiled my way, warmly, despite the ice that I'd thrown her way. Before I knew what she was doing, she wrapped her arms around me.  
"I hope to see you soon," she said.  
She drew back, laughing at my bewilderment.  
"One day," she promised. "You will remember this day and laugh."  
She left me after her declaration and rather than cause a scene, I went to work.

 

Hulda had been more talkative today, confiding in me what she knew of her former employees disappearance and assuring me that she was close to finding more permanent help. I wondered if she was unnerved by me. I was well aware how Nords felt about Dunmer. And to them, I was Dunmer, despite my father's Nordic background. I chose not to take offense and did my job, delivering mead and ale to the inn's guest as well as food, though I felt dodging the bard should have been added to my pay since he had not heeded my first warning. Perhaps if I broke a finger? To ignore him, I instead set my mind to the Night Mother. This Riften, where was it? If I had to travel, I'd rather it be by horseback, though I doubted I'd get another chance to steal a horse. Which meant I had to be honest and purchase one, which may come in handy, given that my former horse, an unnamed mare, had never truly been allowed much rest because the Night Mother kept me busy. Before Hulda let me free for the day, I managed to inquire about a horse, to which she replied that she didn't know. I had to bite back a quip and left before I lost my job. When I left, as with the day prior, night had fallen. Unlike that night, I stopped, staring up at the sky. For over 200 years, I had not seen stars. The sky was eternally red, the blood of those lost to its void, I reasoned. To my annoyance, I recalled Kodlak's words, realizing , with equal annoyance, that I had fear. Fear that, at any moment, Molag Bal would return and send me into that place once more. That once again, I would look up and see no stars, but only black mist covering the red sky. That the laughter I heard from children would be that of imps as the little devils flew at me, yanking at my hair and firing magic at my feet as I tried to get away, succeeding and then realizing the pests had made my feet bleed. I hugged myself, the more physical needs of my body temporary receding as my emotions began to run wild. Truly, it was fear of the unknown. Surely, though, the Night Mother would not have called upon my services if she knew I was to be whisked away from her before I could complete the job. With that as my anchor, I returned to Jorrvaskr. Despite Aela's warning found it full of activity, though not the drinking kind. Vilkas was speaking to a group of his fellow comrades, Kodlak's dinner guest from two nights ago present. He was shaking his head.  
"Aela will need to hear of this," he said finally. "We wait until she returns."  
"Skjor!" Vilkas objected.  
"Calm down, Vilkas!" Skjor urged. "I shall go on ahead. When Aela returns, send her after me."  
Vilkas nodded, reluctantly and let Skjor leave, watching him. Skjor passed me thus drawing his gaze to me. I stared back evenly, realizing I hadn't seen Vilkas among the drunks the night before. I suppose he must have gone somewhere. Vilkas approached me slowly, gracing me with a welcoming smile.  
"I see you remain our guest," he greeted.  
"Indeed," I agreed. "Though with less enthusiasm as before."  
"And what has changed?"  
I was well schooled in the art of seduction. In fact, I'd used it on many contracts to fulfill my needs before killing my victim. Only this time, my victim may very well walk away rather than be found naked the next morning in a puddle of blood.  
"I have been unable to get away long enough to inquire about the price of a horse," I replied.  
"You are an easy woman to displease," Vilkas said.  
He had ceased staring into my eyes, his gaze instead going lower. I did not find myself as annoyed by him as the other men. At least this one, I was trying to seduce. I stepped closer, feeling his armor through my clothes. My senses were heightened which meant my body was readying for the kill. Oh, but it was going to be disappointed.  
"You have no idea," I whispered, mouth right next to his ear.  
I placed a kiss on his cheek and then I stepped away, not even glancing back to watch my handiwork. If I was right, he would not come tonight. But he would have me on his mind and he would want nothing more but me.

 

I was awoken by the sounds of what could only be anger and grief in the middle of the night. I rose, annoyed. My body was exhausted, from the emotions I was rediscovering as well as the work in the inn. Leaving my room, I followed the sound, recognizing Aela's voice. She must have been back from her job. I wondered if she'd spoken to Vilkas or the mysterious Skjor yet even as I pushed open the doors to her room. The room lay in ruins, animal like claw marks on the walls. In the midst of the chaos sat Aela, making the most awful sounds I'd ever heard, almost like she was choking. For a brief second, I entertained the thought that she'd been poisoned but banished it from my mind. If she'd been poisoned, given the state of this room, she would have been laying dead by now. Aela turned to me, her eyes red from shed tears of rage and sorrow.  
"Close the doors," she commanded, voice thick.  
"What is wrong with you?" I demanded. "You weep as though someone you love has died."  
The way her body tensed at my words told me someone had.  
"Who has perished?" I asked, taking a step nearer to her.  
Aela whirled on me so fast, rising at the same time.  
"It does not concern you!" she snarled.  
I took a step back, my instinct, not to kill but to survive, taking over. Aela, meanwhile, collapsed to her knees. She looked nothing like the female warrior who had forcefully dragged me to Jorrvaskr. Instead, she looked like nothing more than a woman, heartbroken. She turned those sorrow filled eyes on me, the rage fading a bit as if it had exhausted her far too much for her to hold on.  
"Why?" she asked, sobbing a bit. "Why?"  
I stared at her, knowing my surprise was written all over my face.  
"Why what?" I asked.  
"Why Skjor?" she asked.  
Realization dawned on me. Skjor was the reason for her despair as well as for this most inconvenient awakened state I had obtained. I stepped into the room, closing the doors behind me. Aela watched as I went to her bed, pulling the coarse furs she used as a blanket off. I went to her side next, covering her with the fur.  
"Death claims many," I declared. "We may not always deem it fair or right but that is the way of life."  
My mind drifted to my mother, who had spoken the same words to me when she had handed me my first contract. Her red eyes had shimmered with pride as she walked me to the Sanctuary's doors, instructing me on the easiest and fastest means to kill and then vanish into the night before I was seen.  
"Though, you don't have to like it," I added, remembering my mother's fate.  
Aela's arms wrapped around me, drawing me out of my memories for which I was glad. I wrapped my arms around her, offering up comfort to express my gratitude. I did not like dwelling on my mother, though I had loved her much. I just never loved the sadness her memory brought.

 

I awoke the next morning, mouth fuzzy, as if I'd been drinking, on the floor, Aela still clinging to me. Her hair tickled my chin, much to my displeasure, and I could feel every bone in my body angry that I had so willingly abandoned a bed in order to comfort a woman by spending the night with her on the floor.  
"Aela," I said, nudging her awake.  
She held me far too tightly and in our current position, I could not simply slide away from her. Her eyes opened, surprise evident as she saw me before remembering the night prior. Looking somewhat embarrassed, she released me, allowing me to rise. My body ached and I stretched, despite the prickling feeling of pins and needles stabbing at my body.  
"My thanks," Aela said quietly.  
I glanced sidelong at her but her eyes were downcast.  
"I lost control of my emotions and you offered my comfort," she said.  
I said nothing, just nodding at her apology and hurrying out. It made my skin crawl, watching such a self assured young woman like Aela humble herself. I hurried to my room, bumping into Vilkas on my way there. He nodded at me, face grim.  
"I am grateful to you for what you did for Aela last night," he said.  
A brief smile was awarded to my look of confusion.  
"I was worried when she fell silent and came to check on her."  
So, he had seen us. His hand rested on my shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.  
"Farewell," he finally said, leaving me in the hall as he went into Kodlak's chambers.  
I did not have time to dwell. Late or not, I still had a job and until Hulda found my replacement, she had no choice but to put up with my tardiness and pay me for what work I did get done.

 

"I heard about their loss," Hulda remarked.  
She had urged me over as soon as I had walked into the tavern.  
"Whose loss?' I asked.  
"The Companions," Hulda replied.  
She shook her head.  
"Skjor was a good, strong man. He will be missed."  
I kept my face impassive. I hadn't known him well but I could not be so coldhearted in front of Hulda and risk her paying me less or not at all.  
"Tragic indeed," I remarked offhandedly.  
"Also," Hulda added, stopping me before I hurried away. "I heard there was a stranger in town. He arrived an hour after you left for the night. Purchased a horse this morning and rode away."  
She smiled at me.  
"1,000 gold for a horse," she informed me.  
I tried to hide both my surprise and disappointment. I would be here forever at that price. Perhaps it was best to simply steal one and then set the beast loose before I arrived at Riften.  
"My thanks," I said. "For remembering that I had asked."  
Hulda nodded my way and set me off to do my work. I noticed that she had not scolded me for being late.

 

Hours later, as I cleaned up, preparing to carry out a heavy bucket of used ash cleaned from the hearth, I was taken by surprise, grabbed roughly by the waist and dragged into the shadows. My body was pressed against a hard body. I moved to fight back but found a dagger at my throat and thought better of it.  
"The Night Mother expected you days ago," a deep voice grumbled in my ear.  
Shivers went through my body as I felt him sniffing me.  
"And I certainly wished you'd arrived on time, now that I've gotten a whiff of you, morsel."  
How lovely. Another werewolf.  
"Name's Arnbjorn."  
"You're awfully talkative, Arnbjorn," I remarked. "How'd you know who I was?"  
"Lucky guess," he murmured.  
I let out a low chuckle.  
"You can let go now," I pointed out.  
He did so, resheathing his dagger as I took a few steps away. His eyes were on me fully now, amusement dancing in them.  
"Did the Night Mother send you?" I asked.  
Arnbjorn rolled his eyes.  
"Yes, she sent me. We all await you and here you've been, playing a brainless, well breasted bar maid."  
The comment about my breasts made my cheeks hot but I shrugged.  
"I travel faster on horseback," I argued. "And I didn't feel much like stealing."  
Arnbjorn grinned.  
"No, I suppose not. And I don't have enough coin to bring you back with me."  
He shrugged.  
"I'll head back to the Sanctuary," he said. "See if Astrid'll spot you."  
"Astrid?" I repeated.  
Arnbjorn smirked, stepping closer to me.  
"You smell like a bitch in heat," he whispered to me. "Find someone to help you out with that, or I will."  
With that threat, he was gone, leaving me feeling very uncomfortable. If he could smell it, what was to stop any other werewolves hiding out in Jorrvaskr to do the same?

 

Jorrvaskr was deathly silent and there was no cheerful drinking. Only silent reflection as each Companion reminisced about Skjor. I waded through the sorrowful quiet of the great hall, my hunger killed by the choking sadness. Well, one hunger. The other had flared up with 200 years of strength to fuel it at first contact with Arnbjorn's body. It felt somewhat wrong to feel such lust when a man had just been killed but the shame was minor. I was use to bringing about death and one lost care of what was right or wrong, morally. Being an assassin left little time for morals. I went straight for my room, wondering how great a risk it was to barricade the door. I was tired of the wearing my dress and wished to be rid of it for a while, even if it meant sleeping naked for the night. Deciding the risk was worth it, I began unlacing the dress even before I opened the door. Inside though, sitting on the edge of my bed was Vilkas. Surprise made me grab at the lacings that held the dress.  
"What are you doing in here?" I demanded, more surprised than angry.  
He was watching me with heat in his gaze mixed with drowned sorrow and even from where I stood, I could smell ale on him. He'd been drinking. Slowly, he rose from the bed and took a few steps towards me. I moved away a bit, not entirely sure what he was going to do. To add to my nervousness, he closed both doors before his attention went to me and with no warning, he rushed me, forcing me against the wall and crushing my body with his. Thankfully, he still maintained some measure of carefulness and I wasn't completely crushed by his armor. I did not get to ask any more questions as his lips found mine, hungrily claiming them. My hunger flared up then, urging me to take over and hurry this along so that I could get what I needed, but it also left me weak. 200 years of not touching another and when the time came, I was the one being dominated. Vilkas's calloused hands slid beneath my thighs, lifting me and wrapping my legs around his waist. My grip on my dress fell away, exposing my breasts to him, though I can't say he minded. In fact, I think the gesture encouraged him and he skillfully began removing his armor, one handed, even as he kissed me. I heard the tell tale thump! as his armor slid away and his formerly free hand seized my other thigh. He broke the kiss, which tasted of ale but that didn't matter. Arnbjorn had been right as had Lilith and Aela, though she'd spoken in jest. Vilkas was not a man I could love but one I could seek pleasure from. Then again, I was not a woman he could love, rather one he could seek to use to take his mind off his sorrow. I cried out despite myself as his mouth closed around one of my breasts, teasing one of my nipples with his tongue. He did not stay there long. This was a moment of convince not of passion. With a final nip, which hurt just a bit, he drew back, taking away the security I felt with my back against the wall. For one heart stopping moment, I was without back support, afraid I would fall and split my head on the floor until I felt the bed beneath me. Vilkas released my thighs in order to fully remove the rest of his armor, though it took him sometime to do so in his drunken state. Eventually, he succeeded, now turning back to me. His fingers slid up my thighs, lifting my dress and exposing me to him. I blushed madly, more at how my body was reacting then from embarrassment. He did not notice. I closed my eyes, my body waiting for what came next, anticipating it really, and then he was in. I did not expect that and he was so much bigger than men I'd had in the past. It was much like my first time all over again but I did not mind. I merely dug my nails into his back, digging deeper with every thrust. He seemed blind to the possible pain, so intent on one task. I, meanwhile, felt as if my nerves were intentionally making every touch increase tenfold until it was overwhelming and I had to bite my lip from screaming. Above me, I felt Vilkas tense, his grunt of release almost turning into a howl. Shock ran through me at the same time he achieved release, his man essence shooting right into me. Even in the wake of satisfied exhaustion, I stared up at Vilkas, at the werewolf hiding beneath his skin. He stared down at me, as if realizing that I now knew what he was. He didn't seem to care, lowering himself enough to kiss me to no avail. The ale finally claimed him and he nuzzled against me before falling asleep. I sighed deeply, a wave of his body's musk hitting me. How had I not seen he was a werewolf? I honestly could not bring myself to care and allowed myself to succumb to a very satisfied sleep.


	4. Night Mother's Will

Vilkas was gone when I awoke. Good. If he'd stuck around, I honestly don’t know what I would have said. I waited a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, before I got up. My body ached a bit, which I ignored. There was a knock at my door, one that made me tense. If it was Vilkas, so help me Sithis.  
"What?" I snapped.  
"There's someone here to see you."  
It was Aela. I played her words back. Someone to see me? Everyone I knew was dead. I dressed fast, fueled by curiosity, despite myself. Aela was gone when I opened the door but I could hear her in Kodlak's quarters, her words muffled and undecipherable. With excitement, I hurried to the great hall, looking around for my supposed visitor. Sitting on one of the benches, legs propped up as if this was her home, was a woman in the familiar black and red of the Dark Brotherhood. Her blonde hair was in a braid which she fiddled with as she waited. She must have heard my approach, turning her cold eyes to me as I approached. I almost smiled. Those eyes were familiar. They were the cold eyes of a killer. I'm surprised Aela didn't drag her down to Kodlak because of the murder in them. Slowly, she rose, resting her hands on her hips as she studied me.  
"The Listener," she remarked in a voice meant to keep our conversation between us. "Arnbjorn was right. You are a well breasted bar maid, though you don't look brainless."  
I smirked.  
"I do try so hard not to be," I replied. "But I can act like one better than most."  
She matched my smirk.  
'I like you," she decided.  
She offered her gloved hand.  
"Astrid," she said. "I've come to bring you home."  
I accepted her hand.  
"Syra," I replied. "And I can't go home yet. I have to go to Riften."  
"All in due time," Astrid said. "First we must get you outfitted and accustomed to the Sanctuary."  
I shrugged.  
"As you wish," I agreed.  
Astrid seemed glad that I didn't continue arguing.  
"I suppose given your former residence, you don't have anything to pack. We can leave now," she decided. "And objections."  
I answered her with a shrug.  
"Anyone you want to say goodbye to?" she asked.  
Her smile was gone, replaced with one that meant she'd noticed something and didn't like it. I glanced back, catching my first glimpse of Vilkas that morning. He was watching us, intently. I turned back to Astrid.  
"I shall say goodbye when the time comes for my dagger to meet their flesh," I said.  
A bloodlust flashed in Astrid's eyes as she once again smiled.  
"Oh I do so like you," she declared.  
"You'll love me," I proclaimed. "When you see how I kill."

 

Shadowmere. I had not seen the beast in so long yet he waited in the stables, his red eyes holding an impatience that said he did not enjoy the wait. I reached out, touching his muzzle. He neighed softly, leaning into my touch. Astrid watched us, an unreadable expression on her face. I ignored her, stroking Shadowmere, remembering the last time I had seen him. It had been as I walked into the Imperial City for what was my last job before Oblivion. I had hoped he'd find his way back to Lucian. Apparently he had. Thank Sithis. Astrid mounted Shadowmere, breaking me out of my memories. A part of me wanted to object. This had been my horse before he had been hers. But he was hers now and I'd have to accept that. At least until I killed her.  
"That ones yours," Astrid informed me, nodding at a paint horse tied to the fence.  
I went to it, touching its muzzle as I began untying it from the fence. Astrid watched me as I mounted and I got the feeling she was judging me, as if trying to decide if she needed me. I almost smiled but managed to hold it in. And here she'd been saying that she liked me. Once I was on my horse, she urged Shadowmere forward at a slow trot.  
"When we get back, there are a few contracts you can choose from," Astrid said.  
"I already have my assignment," I argued. "The Night Mother-"  
"Not you too," Astrid sighed, wearily. "Cicero goes on and on about the Night Mother."  
"And you don't approve," I commented dryly.  
Had she no respect for our mother?  
"He calls himself the Keeper," Astrid said.  
She'd turned a bit to look at me.  
"He keeps an old, shriveled corpse with him as if it's a real person."  
"She is," I replied. "To those who believe."  
Astrid shook her head.  
"Perhaps there's a reason you play brainless so well," she grumbled.

 

"What," rasped the door. "Is the music of life?"  
I stared at the skull. The door hadn't changed much. Astrid was leading Shadowmere to a pool of black water, carelessly tossing aside his reins as he waded in to the water. I hid my anger. If she was going to have such a noble beast at her beck and call, the least she could do was take care of him. I looked away from her and back at the door.  
"Silence," I replied. "Is the music of life."  
The door gave a hiss.  
"Welcome home," it said, the door opening.  
I stepped in with Astrid following. She noticed my smile.  
"What's that for?" she asked.  
I looked her way.  
"It's nice to know some things never change," I replied.

 

Some things never change. I felt Astrid's eyes on my back as I walked past Arnbjorn. I'd been with the Brotherhood a month and knew that the family I had walked into was nothing like the one I had left behind. The Five Tenets were gone, lost to time, along with any respect for the Night Mother. And Astrid was forever watching me, wary of the time I spent talking to the Keeper, often late into the night, as well as any interaction I had with her spouse. The latter I only knew because of Nazir, the Redguard that had been giving me my contracts for the past month. He had advised me to stay away from Arnbjorn which was hard. I had no skill as a blacksmith and it was the only time I interacted with the werewolf. Babette greeted me, looking up at me with child like wonder that I knew was just an act. She was older than me, despite the looks of a ten year old child. I offered my gloved hand and she took it.  
"Run into another dragon?" she asked.  
She probably noticed my singed clothing. Babette was the only one who knew of my past as the Dragonborn. She did not fully understand the implications but knew that when I was out and about, dragons were just drawn to me.  
"Yes," I replied, glumly.  
I had to give her credit, she didn't laugh, instead biting her lip a bit, the only tell that she was laughing at me. I glanced over my shoulder to ignore her, my eyes on the route we'd taken.  
"So," I said, still looking back. "Do I have enough?"  
Babette had proven I could trust her, despite her apathetic personality. Thus, I had entrusted what septims I had to her for safe keeping. She took them with her and stashed them in a hollow tree near the sanctuary. I was saving for Riften, still intent on following my orders from the Night Mother. Cicero certainly approved.  
"I think so," Babette was saying. "You don’t need to buy a horse. All you need is supplies to get you to Riften and that's not as far from here as it is from, say, Whiterun?"  
I ignored her attempts at a joke, though her teasing annoyed me. No matter how old she was, she would never stop being a child. She'd just be one morbid child. Forever.  
"When will you go, Syra?" Babette inquired.  
I looked her way.  
"I shall go tonight," I replied. "You have an assignment which means I can leave with you so that Astrid won't hear the door opening and get suspicious."  
Babette nodded her agreement.  
"I hope you'll be ready then."  
I'd been ready since I got here.

 

Astrid knew. Well, she knew something. As always, I felt her eyes on me as I sat with Gabriella, eating an apple. It was the only thing around the sanctuary whose taste did not have to be improved with ale or mead and I would need a clear head for tonight.  
"Is she always so watchful?" I asked Gabriella.  
I was careful to keep my tone light. I had been hit with the realization that my arrival had caused a split in loyalties. Gabriella had chosen Astrid as had Arnbjorn. He was to be expected, given that he was her husband. Babette had claimed that while she felt loyalty to Astrid, she was more loyal to me. As for the rest, I interacted with them so little I just assumed that they chose Astrid above me.  
"Yes," Gabriella lied.  
I'd been watching Astrid when she thought I hadn't been. Occasionally, her eyes would find her husband lovingly but that was it. She watched me, like a hawk. It was rather annoying.   
"I suppose I understand," I remarked, offhandedly.  
I was glad Gabriella had been so obvious in her decision. It made it easier to manipulate her.  
"She is wise."  
Before Gabriella could respond, I leapt from my perch and headed for Cicero where I knew I would find him. As always, he was in the Night Mother's chambers, mumbling to himself. I knew the Night Mother wasn't listening to him. She never would. But she listened to me and she talked to me.  
'Listener,' she hissed. 'I have given you a contract and still, it goes ignored.'  
"My apologies, Mother," I said, announcing myself to Cicero.  
He looked about ready to say something but I held my hand up to silence him.  
"I intend to go to Riften as you have commanded," I assured the Night Mother.  
'When, my Listener?' she rasped.  
"Tonight," I promised. "And no later."  
'See that you do,' she urged before falling silent.  
I lowered my hand, nodding at Cicero.  
"My apologies, Keeper," I said.  
Cicero's beady eyes stared at me.  
"No need to apologize, Listener. The Keeper understands."  
His smile unnerved me but I pressed on.  
"I need a favor of you, Keeper," I went on.  
"Anything!" he declared. "Anything for the Listener!"  
"I need you to watch Astrid tonight. She must not find out that I left."  
"But of course, Listener! Anything for the Listener."  
I smiled at him.  
"I like the sound of that."

 

"Nazir, do you have any more contracts?" I asked.  
My eyes went to Astrid, pausing from drawing back the furs that covered my bed.  
"None yet," Nazir replied. "Syra ensured that."  
I hid my smile as I continued fiddling with my bed, waiting for the two of them to leave and Babette to show her face.  
"I see," Astrid said.  
I glanced back at her only to lock eyes with her,  
"Is there a problem, Astrid?" I asked, as innocently as possible.  
"No," she replied.  
She turned back to Nazir.  
"Well, good night."  
With that, she left, casting one final glance back at me. I met it with a dark smile, one that said that, without the five tenets to bind me, I would and could kill her, even as she slept.  
"Ready?"  
Babette had wisely waited until everyone else was asleep, and I myself was on the verge. Now, though, I sat up, groggy, and threw of the fur I was covered with. Babette watched, obviously amused that I was like a child awoken from a deep sleep, unable to function right. I quickly shook that off, following Babette as I pulled on my cowl. We reached the door without being detected, though I doubted anyone would care that Babette was off on another job. As soon as that heavy door was nestled in its frame once more, I nodded my thanks at Babette.  
"Best of luck," I said. "May Sithis be with you."  
She nodded and then was gone, vanishing before my eyes, leaving me staring at Shadowmere's pool. I longed to summon him and take him with me but, alas, it was not meant to be. With deep regret, I turned away, sought out the horse Astrid had bestowed upon me and headed for Riften.

 

I would never get use to them. The spider creatures that shimmied all over the place. There was one in the Sanctuary but, at my request, it had been kept far away from me. But out in the wilds of Skyrim, nothing held them back and they gave chase as soon as I zoomed past them. I urged Bane ever faster, looking back every so often and seeing just one furry leg. That was all it took. Where was Riften? When would I come to the final turn that would mean guards? Guards who knew how to fight these creatures! As if in answer, I could see the tell tale sign of a guard's tower. Thank Sithis. I urged Bane faster still, thundering around the curve, taking note of the well worn path, covered in footprints, horse hooves and wagon marks. Another bend revealed the towering walls of what I prayed was Riften. Just outside, a few inches from the stables was a Khajiit convoy, different from the one I'd traveled with on my way to Whiterun. The Khajiit gathered watched with mild interest as I rode past, stopping Bane from a back breaking gallop in the span of a few seconds. The stable master watched, his eyebrow rising at my rough handling of Bane. Apologetic, I patted the paint horse's heaving neck, running my fingers along the white muzzle. It tossed its head, seeming mighty proud of itself. Regardless, I could not do that again. The strain would probably kill her. I turned to the stable master.  
"Do you mind if I leave her with you?" I asked.  
He shook his head, smiling.  
"Feel free," he said.  
I offered him a smile and offered the reins to the stable hand who managed to appear mysteriously quietly before I headed for the gates. The guards eyed me, suspicious, making me glad that I had opted for my bar maid uniform rather than my Dark Brotherhood uniform. I smiled as the gates creaked behind me but kept walking, eyes scanning the dismal town. How would I be able to tell a thief from these lovely citizens? An inn or tavern seemed my most likely source of information. After all, if I was a thief, I would probably target the richest place in town, which was usually the Jarl's Keep. Wherever that was. I seized the wrist of a random female Nord, holding her in place, almost laughing when she tried to twist out of my hold. She had spark, I'd give her that.  
"Where's the nearest inn?" I demanded.  
She glowered back at me, rage in her eyes. Not enough that I had to worry she'd kill me.  
"Bee and Barb," she replied, her voice a growl.  
She nodded at it with her chin.  
"Tavern."  
I released her, smiling as I did.  
"Much obliged," I lied, backing away. "Don't go anywhere. If you're lying, I want you to meet Sithis for it."  
I saw the fear in her eyes as she realized what I was, well, who I was rather and I let that fear lift my spirits just a bit. Funny how that fear almost made up for having to sleep on the hard ground when Bane needed to rest and having to almost kill my horse to avoid a pack of outrageously big spiders. I said almost. The Bee and Bard was noisy when I walked in but that noise would serve me well. Behind the bar was an Argonian, deep in conversation with a Dunmer. Both women paused in their conversation, eyes on me as I passed them. There went my hopes of remaining inconspicuous and gathering information. Caught now, I smiled, heading towards them, trying to emanate a pleasant air.  
"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very bone chilling smile?"  
I froze in my tracks at the familiar voice, begging my ears to be wrong. With my heart now in the pit of my stomach, I turned, face to face with Lilith. She wore her ever present smirk, her brown hair tied back but strands still escaped, framing her face and drawing my attention once more to her smirk.  
"No," I said. "You cannot be here!"  
"Why ever not?" Lilith asked, obviously trying to hold back laughter, using the sleeve of her mage's robe to hide her mouth. "I live here."  
I had opened my mouth to argue back but found her information enough to steal my words. She let one giggle escape, reaching out and shutting my mouth for me.  
"Farkas and I decided this was the place where we would live and try and better the community," she explained.  
She pointed, her hands on my shoulders turning me to face one part of the room, revealing Farkas sitting in a chair. He lifted his mug to acknowledge me before he went back to drinking and talking to a heavily armored female Nord. Lilith did not seem worried and turned me back to face her.  
"Now then," she prompted. "What are you doing here?"  
I shrugged, as if I was completely calm and not at all freaked that she was here.  
"I needed a change of scenery," I replied.  
Lilith's eyes flashed with mischief and she tilted her head to the side, as if listening to someone. For a second, I thought she was crazy but my eyes widened in realization at the memory of her connection to the Daedra.  
"Who are you listening to?" I demanded quickly.  
"Mara," Lilith answered.  
She grinned.  
"She has plans for you," Lilith informed me.  
I backed away a bit but she caught my wrist.  
"Look, whatever you're here for, it doesn't matter. Come stay with Farkas and I," she urged.  
She spoke fast, as if trying to ease the discomfort she'd stirred up in me.  
"We have plenty of room until my new assistant arrives and I'm sure you're business will be done by then."  
My mind instantly began its calculations. By staying with Lilith and Farkas, I'd save what money I had, which wasn't much after the Brotherhood got their cut.  
"I accept," I said.

 

Despite my reservations, Lilith turned out to be a much better source of information then I had first thought. She answered my questions even before I asked them, every so often doing that head tilt that made me want to hit her. If the gods had cared for me at all, they would have interfered with Molag Bal and they did not. The same could be said of the other Daedric Princes whom I wasn't too fond of at the moment. But Lilith made up for her fault by showing me around Riften, though I could care less about the sites past Mistveil Keep. That was where I would find my thief.  
"You should watch out for him," Lilith was saying, nodding at a Nord who happened to be addressing a crowd.  
I noticed one man from the crowd, a Nord, creeping behind one of the displays. Lilith saw him too, shaking her head.  
"He's trouble."  
"What kind of trouble?" I asked, intrigued.  
It was probably why I had crossed Molag Bal. If I wasn't suppose to do it, I did it. The Nord turned to look our way, his eyes on Lilith instantly.  
"Lilith!" he called.  
She gave a frustrated huff and sped up, catching my arm and tugging me along.  
"Is this anyway to treat a suitor?" I teased.  
"He's not interested in me that way. He's aware that I am the temporary court mage here in Riften and he wants a few secrets. Maybe even a way to break in."  
I smirked.  
"And here I thought you were attracted to the unsavory type," I remarked. "A werewolf husband."  
She smirked.  
"And a Dark Brotherhood Listener as a friend. Truly, I do attract the most unsavory types," she threw back.  
I didn't like that she knew my rank in the Brotherhood and kept my mouth shut, following her around town, all amusement gone. That seemed to suit her just fine.

I could hear Lilith and Farkas above my head and I desperately wished they were just talking. Turning onto my side, I pulled the furs over my head. My stomach was rebelling against Lilith's cooking and it did nothing to soothe me. I sat up, covered in sweat. It was too damn hot in the house. At least in the Sanctuary, the mix of the natural dampness mixed with Arnbjorn's fires evened things out. I yearned for Babette to talk to. She, like many kids, liked to talk more about herself than she like to listen to me. And that's what had lulled me to sleep so many nights. Babette talking about the people she'd killed. Morbid but it worked and I yearned for it now. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, trying to center myself a bit. Perhaps meditation would ease my nerves. I slipped into a neutral state of mind, one that left me disconnected from the world around me while intensifying my sense of smell as well as my hearing. Which is how I heard the whisper of a lockpick in a lock. Meditation would have to wait. I dragged myself out of my inner sanctuary and leaned over, blowing out my flickering candle that I'd brought to bed with me. Whoever was breaking in had probably taken the dying flames as a sign that the residents had fallen asleep with the candle lit. They thought they were safe. Reaching into my boots which rested beside my bed, I withdrew my ebony dagger, a deadly prize one of my victims had pulled on me. Not that it did them much good. I had managed to keep the dagger hidden from both Gabriella and Astrid and tonight it would serve me well. Or so I hoped. I pushed myself into a dark corner, making sure the blade's glint didn't give me away. Silently, the door opened, letting in two sets of footsteps. I strained my ears, listening for more but none came. This was almost too easy. The knob of my door jiggled, testing, and I held my breath, rising to rest on the balls of my feet. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited. Murder did that to me. The door opened and I surged forward, one hand yanking the hood of one of the two thieves over his eyes while I lashed out at the other with my dagger. He stumbled back a bit, falling and crashing into the table. Above our heads, I heard the happy couple stumbling around in the dark, no doubt looking for their clothes. Meanwhile, the one whose hood had been hiding his eyes freed himself, snarling in rage and attacking with a small dagger. He probably expected me to block with my own dagger, giving his friend a chance to attack but I responded with a swift kick to the head, grinning as he fell into the cooking pot, hot stew spilling over onto him. He cried out, rolling away from the scorching stew, crawling for the door. I would have gone after him but his partner was back in action, seizing the back of neck and yanking me into the very table he'd destroyed minutes ago. I couldn't help but cry out as a piece of sharp and pointed wood sliced into me. I'd had enough wounds to know that this one was mortal. With that strength I had left, as my life blood spilled all over the floor, I thrust forward with my dagger, satisfied when it slid easily into the thief's neck. He collapsed, drowning in his own blood. I noticed the other thief, paused in the door, looking back at me. I could see his face now and he actually looked like he felt bad.  
"Apologies, lass," he said. "I'll beg Nocturnal to spare ya."  
I offered him a glare.  
"Hail Sithis," I spat.  
That was the last of my strength and I let my head lull to the side.

 

Fingers came from the darkness, twisting through the darkness like it was hair, before wrapping around me.  
"Sy…ra," a voice hissed.  
I was too tired to care, letting myself be sucked into that void. Just as my hips were swallowed, strong hands seized me, lifting me up, fighting to keep me out of the dark.  
"Hold on," a voice said, female, which meant there were two people fighting for me.  
Then the arms were gone, replaced by much smaller, much more feminine ones.  
"Go back!"  
I recognized the voice, not wanting to and began to struggle. I had to get away. Frantic, I thrashed, shoving my hands into that all too familiar face and pushing her away. Without that anchor, I plunged into the darkness, swallowed whole in seconds.

 

I felt that heat as soon as my eyes opened, listening to the sound of grunting. Glancing around, my eyes rested on the open doorway and the sight of Farkas struggling with a new table. So he was the one grunting. Now that I was awake, I could also hear a rumbling tone filled with authority. A guard perhaps? The voice was gone though and the front door closed, probably by Lilith who I could see striding into the kitchen.  
"They confirmed it," she announced. "The Thieves Guild."  
She sighed in frustration.  
"Someone should do something about them!"  
Farkas sat on the new table's bench, facing her.  
"Well, he wasn't just a thief," he remarked. "He was part of that Morag Tong."  
Despite myself, I shot up, surprised to find that I had no pain. Lilith and Farkas turned, obviously not having expected me to be awake so soon.  
"He was Morag Tong?" I asked. "Are you sure?"  
"You should get some more rest," Lilith urged. "A body still needs rest no matter how good the healer."  
I ignored her, still staring at Farkas who nodded, glancing up at Lilith, as if seeking her approval. Only then did I sink back onto my bed, listening to Lilith mutter beneath her breath. Morag Tong, the Brotherhood's most bitter rivals and the group of assassins who'd killed my father. I didn't blame them for that though. After all, my father had been one of them and he'd failed to follow through on the last contract they'd given him. Of course, if he had, I wouldn't be alive today. A part of me wondered if that contract was still alive to this day. He certainly had tried to kill me from the get go.  
"I'm leaving to meet with Maven," Lilith announced. "She let her dogs into my yard and I'm not happy."  
She was speaking to Farkas as she tugged on a brown wool coat.  
"Be careful," Farkas requested, kissing her cheek.  
She smiled and left, leaving him instructions to not let me out of bed. I let my face contort with annoyance. I was not a child and Lilith had admitted that I was fine, though not in as many words. To my dismay though, Farkas seemed determined to follow her orders.  
"When she speaks, I listen," he had said when I'd tried to leave the house.  
Now I sat at the new table, watching him stir the stew, my eyes fixated on his broad shoulders.  
"You know, I slept with your brother," I announced. "After Skjor's death."  
"Vilkas already told me," Farkas replied.  
He glanced at me, showing me clearly that my ploy had failed.  
"He says it meant nothing to him," he went on. "And he regrets what he did."  
I tilted my head, not wanting him to go on but knowing he would.  
"He thinks he used you and he's usually the smart one. But why do I get the feeling you used him?"  
I smiled then, a slow, evil smile. More like a sneer really.  
"Are you sure he's the smart one?" I asked.  
Farkas shook his head, sighing deeply but looked back at the task at hand.  
"So, why do you listen to Lilith. Are you afraid that she'll zap you or something?" I proceeded. "Or do you not like to think for yourself?"  
"She's the new Harbinger," Farkas replied. "When it matters, what she says, goes."  
"The new Harbinger?"  
I was so sure I had heard the term before.  
"What happened to the old one?"  
"Kodlak was the old Harbingers. And he was killed by the Silver Hand."  
"Kodlak is dead?" I repeated.  
To my surprise, I felt a small ache, which was hard to believe because I had barely known the man. Yet he reminded me of a man I once knew, who'd watched over me in the Dark Brotherhood. Though I doubted Kodlak was as homicidal or morbid.  
"The Silver Hand?" I asked.  
I saw Farkas smirk.  
"That I won't tell you," he replied. "I get the feeling you'd run off and kill them. Or try and end up getting killed."  
"I'm better than you think," I objected.  
"I don't doubt it. But Lilith likes you. Says the Daedric and the Divines had plans for you. I think it best you gain some favor with them before next you meet Molag Bal."  
I said nothing, rising from the table and returning to my temporary room. I hated all the reminders. They felt like taunts. Flopping down on my bed, I curled into a ball and closed my eyes. I didn't want to sleep but it seemed all there was to do in this house.


	5. Battle Scars

Farkas had gone out but I could hear a guard in the house, one that Farkas had befriended in Riften. He was at the table, bustling around. Or at least he had been. He'd been silent for quite some time but I knew he hadn't left. Still, Farkas's departure aroused my curiosity. Had something happened to Lilith? I didn't care or anything. I was merely curious. My curiosity had led me to their alchemy lab, where Lilith kept an impressive book selection. It had to be hers. After all, Farkas was the dumb one. Huddled on my bed, I read, blocking out the world around me as best I could. I didn't care if the guard left. It was far to late to return to the Sanctuary. Not with those spiders out there. Not that I was afraid of them.  
"Good book?"  
The voice made me cringe as I thought of my dagger, tucked in my boot by my bed. With eyes that gave nothing away, I looked at the woman at the door. She watched me with narrowed eyes, suspicious.  
"Fascinating," I replied.  
I recognized her clothing. The thieves from the night before had worn them.  
"Pretty gutsy," I remarked. "Breaking into the same place twice. Especially with a guard in the kitchen."  
"Not much of one. And I didn't break in. I told him I was here to check up on you."  
"Awful nice of you."  
My eyes found my boot and the dagger hilt which poked out of the top.  
"You're probably wondering why I'm here," she went on.  
"Of course not," I replied.  
I stretched, nudging the book slowly, so that she wouldn't notice.  
"I expect that you're out for revenge."  
"No."  
Her response made me pause. No? Certainly not what I had expected. Despite that, I continued nudging the book.  
"I just want to know how you heard them."  
I smirked, the book finally hitting the floor.  
"You're not as quiet as you think," I replied.  
I was beginning to realize who she was. Well, in terms of organization.  
"You're Thieves Guild, aren't you?" I asked.  
Her eye twitched but she gave no other indication that I was right. She didn’t have to. I knew. Smirking still, I reached for the fallen book.  
"Been awhile," I remarked, hand curling instead around my dagger's hilt. "Is the Gray Fox still running the show?"  
"No comment," she replied.  
"But of course."  
With that, I lunged and she ducked, rolling to the floor.  
"Are you crazy? You want that guard to come running?" she demanded.  
"I'm not the one with something to hide," I retorted.  
I adjusted my grip on my dagger, drawing my arm back and preparing to throw. My visitor reached beneath my bed, yanking out my cowl.  
"Really?" she asked.  
I paused, weighing my options. If I threw this and killed her, would I have enough time before the guard came in? I assumed I could since he'd probably shake off sleep before bursting in. But I'd humor her. She was obviously desperate. So I lowered my arm, letting my glare speak for itself.  
"I just want to know how you managed to detect them," she said. "And to request your help."  
"I won't help you break into the Keep," I declared, crossing my arms.  
"We don't need help doing that. But I have a job and I'm good but so was Brynjolf. And you still heard him. Makes me think this curse is real."  
Curse? This smelled a lot like Daedra to me. And while I was hesitant to get involved with them, I was also curious.  
"What job?"  
Her lips quirked.  
"Bit eager, huh?" she chuckled. "Though I guess Lilith has probably been doting on you like she's your mum. She does that. Name's Vex by the way."  
I crossed my arms.  
"I don't recall asking your name nor your opinion of Lilith. I asked about the job."  
Vex only seemed amused. Why did everyone find my annoyance cute rather than a reason to speed up?  
"Goldenglow Estate is close to Riften. And its owner hasn't been paying his dues," Vex explained. "I need to get into the house and swipe the deed from the vault. And light up a few beehives."  
"Seems easy enough," I remarked. "How could you possibly screw it up?"  
Now Vex glared at me.  
"There are mercenaries all over the estate," she said, crossing her arms. "Which is where you come in."  
I smirked.  
"Like I said, easy enough."  
"There is a catch, though," Vex admitted.  
My eyes narrowed, brow furrowing. I didn't like catches. They never worked in my favor.  
"The Guild will inevitably find out about you so I want you to come with me as a recruit," Vex continued.  
"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm the Dark Brotherhood's Listener. I can't just up and enroll in your guild," I pointed out.  
"This one job," Vex promised. "And I'll say you didn't make the cut. Much too bloodthirsty. Mercer with see you as a liability and you'll be out."  
I studied her. I didn't trust her but she was making it hard to say no.  
"Very well," I finally relented. "I'm in."

 

With instructions to meet Vex later that night as well as directions to said place, I napped, vaguely aware of Lilith and Farkas's return as well as their bustling in the kitchen. It was rather annoying that my hearing was so excellent, despite Vex's desire to use it. I supposed in most professions, where one doubted their honed skills, my attributes would be welcomed. But only for that moment in time. Vex had left me a uniform, part of the instructions being to wear it when I met with her. Because I was also to meet Mercer, whoever he was.  
"Awake are you?" Lilith asked.  
I glanced at her, where she stood at the end of my bed.  
"No," I replied. "I am sleep walking."  
"Alas, " she quipped. "You are walking nowhere."  
I rolled my eyes.  
"I am not hungry," I informed her. "Now go away."  
I heard her chuckle lowly, murmuring something to herself, so low that even my excellent hearing could not detect it. I could tell she was speaking to those damned Divines again. Or the Daedra. Damn them all, I said. Instinct took over, forcing me to send my dagger flying for Lilith's head. She took a step to the side as the blade's tip slid into the wall next to her head. She studied the ebony blade, her usually amused eyes dark as she looked my way. I matched her look with my own glare.  
"Do not consult with your damnable little friends every time I prove difficult," I snapped.  
"Do not continue to be difficult," Lilith retorted. "It is becoming more and more like caring for a child."  
"And yet, you welcomed me into your home," I said.  
She smiled darkly.  
"Because I know you. You are a pitiful creature rather than the strong warrior you try so hard to act like you are. And for all your faults, I could no more turn you away then I could a child. Unfortunately, you are far too old for the orphanage and we are stuck with you."  
I had a feeling my mouth had dropped open, which seemed to only amuse Lilith more.  
"I know Vex visited you today," she went on. "And I also know what path you will take. I only warn you to be careful."  
That said, Lilith left, shutting my door gently, despite the rage I felt radiating off of her.

 

Vex awaited me by the altar of Talos, smirking when I approached.  
"It suits you," she commented, jerking at me with her chin.  
I ignored her and her implications, crossing my arms over the Thieves Guild armor. I'd worn the cowl, adding a mask to it.  
"Follow me," she instructed, pushing herself up and leading me toward a small cemetery.  
My lips quirked upwards. I'd heard rumors that the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild shared similar methods. Secret entrances was one of them, I mused, watching Vex kick at a lone coffin. The coffin and the floor it rested on slid back, revealing a short staircase. From where I stood, I could see a sewer entrance and grimaced, glad to have covered my mouth and nose. At least I would avoid the smell. Vex trudged down the stairs and I followed, trying not to flinch when she pulled a chain on the wall that closed us in the small space. Dark and small places, I wasn’t good with but Vex couldn't know that. I made sure she could not see my white knuckles as I closed them around my ebony dagger. Breathe, I reminded myself firmly. Vex lifted the sewer covering, revealing a ladder rather than a short jump into filthy water. Glancing my way to see what I thought of said ladder, she grinned.  
"Welcome to the Cistern," she said, climbing down.  
I followed, leaping from the ladder about half way down, landing in a crouch beside Vex.  
"Couldn't just use the ladder like everyone else, could you," Vex murmured.  
"No," I replied, rising.  
Vex smiled a bit.  
"Didn't think so," she said. "Come on."  
She started walking, waving for me to follow. I wanted to object. I was not a child that needed to be guided. But given that I was only an "initiate", I suppose I had to at least act like one. At least it was more dignified than, say, a brainless bar maid. So I followed, eyeing the few wanderers scattered around the Cistern. Some were asleep in beds, napping between jobs while others loitered silently near the edge of the water, being courteous to their fellow brethren. I must have made a small sound because Vex paused, glancing my way.  
"What's so funny?" she asked.  
"Nothing," I lied though it was half true.  
The care those awake took to give their sleeping brothers silent was almost honorable. And certainly there was no honor among thieves. Then again, there was none among assassins as well, which is what kept my mouth shut when faced with Vex's question. Vex shook her head, leading us on, under the watchful gaze of the thieves.  
"Mercer!" Vex called, her voice bouncing off the walls.  
Apparently she cared little for those asleep. In fact, those that didn't mumble profanities ,merely rolled over, burying their heads beneath their pillows and went back to sleep.  
"Vex!" a firm voice scolded. "For Nocturnal's sake!"  
Vex smiled at me again, nodding at the lecturing Nord approaching.  
"That's Mercer," she mouthed.  
As if I cared. I intended only to meet him once. And then never again. Mercer approached slowly, his dark eyes narrowing more and more as he took in the sight of me.  
"Who?" he demanded as soon as he was close enough. "Is that?"  
I could tell he longed to know my gender, to dismiss me but I had taken pains to make it less than obvious that I was female. Luckily, the Brotherhood I had been an initiate in originally had plenty of men trained by my mother who'd been more than willing to play big brother to me in return. In that aspect, we were a real family. I could walk, talk, dress, eat and even drink like a man, though I found the latter a disgusting habit as it turned the most respectable men into brainless clouts. Mercer continued studying me though he addressed Vex.  
"This is my new recruit," Vex replied. "I want to take them with me on the estate job."  
I smiled beneath my makeshift cowl. She hadn't known why I was trying so hard to hide the fact that I was a girl but she wasn't going to expose me. Perhaps she wasn't as dumb as I had originally believed. Mercer scoffed.  
"You could do that job in your sleep!" he argued.  
"This one has potential," Vex persisted. "What better way to test it than a real job?"  
Mercer shook his head, mumbling something about regrets and bad ideas.  
"Fine," he said at last.  
Despite myself, I felt my heart beat increase, excited that this would no doubt be a very bloody night.

 

As with the Cistern, Vex decided our most likely entrance was through the sewers. Splashing, as quietly as possible, through the murky water, I slid my hood back.  
"Your boss is a charmer," I remarked dryly.  
Vex chuckled a bit.  
"And yours is much better?"  
"I wish," I remarked dryly.  
I was not the most capable leader. Rather than remain content organizing contracts and playing recruiter, I had insisted that my mother handle that, allowing me to work in the field. Killing people was much preferred to sending others off to do the job. Still, the Listener led the Dark Brotherhood. And Astrid was not the Listener. Our conversation died a bit as we seemed to draw closer to the estate. There were more giant rats or skeevers to kill which I did with ease.  
"No stomach?" I inquired, after I had, yet again, dispatched a small nest.  
"I'm in the Thieves Guild for a reason," Vex replied. "I'm no murderer. I will kill if its absolutely necessary though."  
She glanced back at me, pausing, the filthy water up to her knees.  
"So why do you take so much pleasure in killing?"  
I smirked.  
"It's in my blood," I replied. "My mother was Brotherhood. My father, Tong."  
Vex's eyes widened a bit as she fully grasped my words.  
"You didn't stand a chance," was all she said.  
We moved on.

 

Despite my training, my mother refused me contracts over and over again, urging me to better my stealth until the day that I could walk past her and my father unheard. She wanted me to be invisible, I wanted to strike fear into the hearts of my victims right before I ripped them out. We butted heads but I always minded my mother. She was the best at what she did and only wanted to raise me thusly. I can be invisible, which is what Vex required right now. With no noise at all, I lifted the sewer covering, listening for sounds of life. None. At least not nearby. I motioned to Vex who leapt up, pulling herself from the sewer and crouching in the small room.  
"Follow me," she urged.  
I nodded, crouching and hurrying behind her, my body reaching out for the tell tale sounds of men. Surely they weren't all outside. That would be careless when the real treasurers are usually inside. Vex led me forward, our movements disturbing nothing, even though I could tell Vex was distracted. By what, I was unaware.  
"Do you hear anything?" she asked.  
She sounded panicked, though not to the extent that it was obvious. Only one as panicked as she would have heard. And I found myself panicked.  
"No," I replied.  
She let out a deep sigh.  
"The safe is downstairs," she announced. "We head down and grab the stash. Circle back and burn the hives."  
Her plan gave me reason to pause. Never had I felt comfortable infiltrating a castle to kill a servant. They usually worked and lived under the castle, making it that much harder to get out. An ambush! That's what could await us. But Vex was already out of my sight, creeping into a possible trap. With no other choice, I followed her.  
"Vex," I hissed lowly.  
She shushed me.  
"Job like this requires quiet," she scolded lowly.  
"And caution," I snapped back. "Something's not right. I can't hear a thing."  
"Must mean they all went out," Vex replied.  
"Except they had to know your guild wouldn't roll over so easily."  
Vex paused at my reasoning, looking up at me.  
"So, if you can't hear them and their not out drinking, where are they?" she asked.  
I slid past her, landing lightly at the bottom of the stairs and peeking around it, whispering one of few spells I knew. Instantly, violet flares rose up, shaped like men. I glanced Vex's way.  
"Three men," I said to her, voice low.  
She nodded. I'd dealt with Tamriel's Thieves Guild. They preferred not to kill. It was bad for business. But I was Dark Brotherhood. And this was my business.  
"Stay!" I hissed at Vex.  
Before she could ask why, I darted out, obviously taking the men by surprise. Before they knew what was happening, my ebony dagger was in my hand and I leapt, legs circling the meatiest neck as I mercilessly plunged my dagger into the jugular. I was aware of the other two who came running but I leapt off their partner, shoving him back into them. One managed to avoid the dead weight, his war hammer raised as he drew closer. I spun out of the way, slicing his throat with ease. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering on my face where the hood failed to cover me.  
"Syra!" Vex yelled in alarm.  
I spun, surprised to see the third mercenary had recovered a lot faster than I had suspected. My best bet was to attempt a block, pray it worked and if I failed, the driving force behind his war axe would most likely cause some serious damage. Time seemed to slow, my arm rising, dagger clutched, weighed by the weight of hope that it would be enough. The sound of metal meeting metal rang out in the room as well as the sound of a blade shattering. The tip of my poor, abused dagger clattered to the floor uselessly, much to my horror since the mercenary was gearing for another attack. Weaponless, I threw myself back, a very familiar figure thrusting herself between me and the axe. Vex cried out, dropping the steel dagger she held as the axe dug into her back. Reacting fast, I scooped up the dagger with one hand, catching Vex with the other and plunging her dagger into the mercenary's neck. His gurgled cries filled my ears as I cradled Vex.  
"You idiot!" I snarled.  
The axe hadn't buried itself in her back, the offending weapon at my feet. Vex smirked.  
"Say what you want," she gasped.  
I swore, lifting her into my arms and dropping my last piece of dagger. I suspected it would be much harder leaving than it had been getting in.

 

"Vex!"  
I endured the stairs of those in the Ragged Flagon and Cistern, my armor torn and my body bleeding. Except for the wound on her back, Vex was otherwise unharmed. Her eyes were on my face, really studying me. My hood had been torn and the mask portion gone, leaving my bleeding cheeks exposed. Men were running towards us, calling out to Vex.  
"Thank you," she said.  
I felt strong hands grip Vex and I let her go, collapsing to my knees as I did. As I suspected, it had been harder breaking out then it had been breaking in. Mercenaries had flooded the house, blocking the way to the sewer. So I'd used the front door. Which was why Vex and I were dripping wet.  
"Lass?"  
I looked up, staring at Brynjolf. His eyes widened, recognizing me instantly. Probably because I had slaughtered his friend. I let my lips curl in a cruel smile. If he ousted me right here and now, I was no match.  
"If you're going to kill me, at least pull the arrow out of my shoulder," I requested.  
I saw the ghost of a smile grace his lips and he turned away, probably satisfied to tell his pals who it was had thinned their ranks. Without further warning, he bent, lifting me, summoning a loud squeak from deep inside me.  
"Where are you taking me?" I demanded.  
"To that table," he replied.  
I looked at the one he indicated, noticing a very unhappy Mercer. Without a look at his Guild Master, Brynjolf set me down, gently, drawing a dagger from his back. I watched with suspicious eyes but he was calm, hand wrapped around the arrow as he cut through the neck. I grunted but made no other noise. Surely, he wouldn't care for me only to turn around and kill me. His blade sliced through the guild cuirass I wore, revealing my bare skin. I'd been naked before many men before so I was able to remain calm as Brynjolf's fingers prodded the area around the embedded arrow head, probably trying to see how deep it was in and if he could possibly dislodge it.  
"It's in there good," I heard Mercer remark.  
"Aye, that it is," Brynjolf agreed.  
I heard the sound of liquid smacking against a bottle and closed my eyes, knowing where this was going. I'd seen my mother do this to my father the few times an archer caught him when he least expected it and the arrow was in deep. Alcohol to both numb and sanitize the wound while she dug the arrow head out with either her bare hands or a knife. It depended on how mad my father made her.  
"Breathe, lass."  
His hand was warm against my skin, trying to ease me to relax. I hadn't realized I'd tensed. Slowly, I relaxed and that's when Mercer, for both Brynjolf's hands were on me, poured the drink onto the wound. I couldn't help it, screaming bloody murder as soon as I felt the burn. Steel or iron dug into my flesh as Brynjolf dug the arrow head out.  
"Divines above, Mercer. Haven't we got any potions on stock." I heard Brynjolf grunt.  
"No," Mercer replied. "She'll pass out soon enough."  
And I did, the last thing I heard was Brynjolf's triumphant crow as he produced the arrow head. 

 

"Awaken, girl."  
The voice urged me awake, the command behind it all too familiar. With great reluctance, I opened my eyes, surrounded by sinister shadows at every turn. The aura of this place was all too familiar. Oblivion. I rose, glancing around, looking for the savagery to be confronted with only darkness.  
"Where am I?" I demanded.  
This was not the Oblivion I knew. No, this much worse. There was nothing and that was far scarier.  
"Do not be afraid. For you are my champion, not my prisoner."  
The shadows parted, revealing a woman I had only seen set in stone. Nocturnal.  
"Nocturnal," I breathed, tone hostile.  
She remained expressionless, staring down at me.  
"What do you want?"  
My attitude seemed to roll over her like waves over a rock, not bothering the rock a bit.  
"I have need of you," she said.  
"Need all you want," I snapped. "I won't help."  
My declaration was met with a mere rising of her eyebrow. It did not occur to me until then that she could easily keep me locked within the darkness until I agreed to help her.  
"Then perhaps a trade," she mused, more to herself than to me.  
A smile graced her lips, one that frightened even me.  
"I offer you my protection from Molag Bal," she declared.   
My eyes widened, a faint hope rising in me before I crushed it. Mother always said if something sounded too good to be true, it usually was.  
"What good is your word, your protection?" I spat. "Against Molag Bal. I know how the Daedra work."  
"Indeed," Nocturnal said, voice empty of all emotion. "I am aware of your mother's… unique gift. A gift you share."  
I was glaring at her fully, letting all my hatred for her kind pour in.  
"Become my servant, within that world," she bargained. "And more Daedra will look to you. And then, the Divine will as well. There is no greater than them, than Akatosh who rules them. They should offer much better protection than I."  
Her smile sent shivers through me and I wished only to tear it from her face.  
"You have already merited a reward to show my favor. I am rather fond of Vex and her unique way of breaking and entering."  
"I want nothing from you," I snapped.  
"But you do. Deep in your heart, yes, you still posses one though you try and hide it. I can give you what you most desire," she bargained. "The one familial bond you will have in this world."  
My eyes widened as I realized what she meant.  
"Impossible," I declared. "I saw him die. Saw them cast him into the sun. And even if he survived, all these years, he will still be a vampire."  
"But there is a cure, a long forgotten cure," Nocturnal went on.  
I could hear the smile in her voice, the triumphant edge. She believed she'd already won.  
"I want proof," I declared. "Before I make any commitments. Do not tell me the cure but tell me where to find him."  
Nocturnal fell silent.  
"Such a cynical girl," she remarked. "But very well. I will tell you."

 

Gasping, I awoke, the aches of my body alarming me until my memories returned. I sat up, flinching, but looking around. I was in the Cistern, tucked away in one of the beds. The few thieves still loitering glanced my way and then diverted their attention. I had no time for them, instead reaching up with trembling fingers to touch my sore shoulder. The one that the arrow head had been pried from. Instead of bandages, my fingers found the coarse material of a dress, one I had not been wearing when I came in. In shock, I threw the blankets off, looking at the deep blue material in surprise.  
"Awake lass?"  
My head went up, locking eyes with Brynjolf. He towered over me, his arms crossed over his broad chest.  
"I'm surprised you helped me at all," I remarked. "After I killed your partner."  
My voice was low, though it didn't matter. We were the only two close enough for my words to reach.  
"Aye, lass, I wondered what silenced my tongue when I meant to oust you," he admitted. "Perhaps my amazement over your survival. That was a death wound if ever I saw it."  
I smirked.  
"We assassins aren't very good thieves. We cut down our contacts rather than let them live. The same is often true of our comrades."  
"And yet, you dragged Vex back here rather than sacrifice her to save your skin," Brynjolf mused, acting as though he was speaking more to himself than to me.  
I saw through his ruse but said nothing. I hadn't understood the compulsion to save her. Nocturnal perhaps? No. As much as I damned her and her kind, the compulsion was my own. No one had sought to protect me. Save me, yes, from myself of course, of the legacy of my family. But never protection. That was what Vex had done and in return, I had saved her.  
"She's awake, you know," Brynjolf said. "Askin' about you too. Whatever bond you to have only got stronger, lass."  
I shrugged at his words, flinching a bit. Perhaps Lilith would heal me. What was I thinking? Lilith was the last person I wanted to see. Vex was a different story.  
"She's askin' for you, lass," Brynjolf continued.  
"Then take me to her," I ordered.  
Without another word, Brynjolf gently caught my wrist, looping his other arm around my waist and lifting me up. I'd underestimated my earlier aches as the worst of my pain and I released a few very colorful words that would have made my father proud, my uncle laugh and my mother red with shame. All were said as I turned, using Brynjolf's shoulder to hide my cringing face. Something was wrong with my leg. A sprain, most likely. I'd had to jump out the window of an upper floor, since our entrance had been blocked. I had thought I knew how to fall. Apparently, I was wrong.  
"Quite a mouth on you, lass," Brynjolf remarked, amused.  
"You haven't heard anything yet," I retorted.  
Despite the pain, I limped along with him, leaning on him more than I would have liked.  
"The dress," I began.  
"Modest one, aren't you?" Brynjolf asked.  
He smiled.  
"Mercer had Sapphire change ya. Said it wouldn't help to keep you in bloodied armor," he explained.  
I eyed him suspiciously, feeling that he wouldn't have hesitated to change me if he could. His smile grew as if he sensed my thoughts, though he focused more on opening the door ahead of us than denying my unspoken accusations. Once the door was closed behind us, he paused, turning to face me full on.  
"Lass, you saved Vex, Had you left her there, she would have died, that is for sure. For that, I owe you, we owe you, a great deal."  
My mind flashed back to Vex, defending me from that war axe, saving my life rather than saving her own. I shook my head, the first wave of emotions I didn't want to feel anymore washign over me. I wasn't humble or modest but sometimes, emotions of their sort would rise up within me, as if something as filthy and rotten as I had need of them.  
"You don't owe me anything," I declared. "If anything, I owe you. Vex saved me first. That's why she is wounded. My wounds are nothing compared to what she has given me."

 

Vex had fallen back to sleep while Brynjolf had fetched me. I sat next to her, watching her sleep, far too exhausted to hobble my way back to the bed I had formerly occupied. My leg still ached but that pain did not, or could not, distract me from my thoughts. He was alive. I could remember his face, bright as day, more Nord than I who had mostly taken our mother's looks while he got father's. It was for the best, he had said, calling father an ugly beast and then laughing when father had chased him. Dyre, the heart of my family. He never could kill, not as easily as me. He was my elder by two years but, to save time, father had taken us both out on our first contract. On the trip there, we had laughed, talking endlessly of which of us would be the Listener, while Dyre teased me, proclaiming that he'd someday marry Kaya, just to make me jealous. He thought I objected to their marriage because she was my friend. In truth, it had been my brother I hadn't wanted to share. But I lost that brother on the ride home and I hadn't known why. My job had required me to sacrifice the one thing I could never obtain again. My purity. And my brother had somehow sensed that, remaining deathly quiet until that night, in the sanctuary, when he had embraced me for the first and only time before he left, only to surface four years later a vampire, trying to steal me away, to free me from the life of a Dark Brotherhood assassin. My father had taught him the era of his ways. Caught up in my own thoughts, I didn't hear the approach of Mercer behind me, jumping when his hand landed on my bare shoulder.  
"How's Vex?" he inquired.  
I shrugged then flinched.  
"She hasn't woke up yet," I replied. "Though Brynjolf claims she did."  
Mercer nodded before lowering a sleek red bottle into my hand. I looked at him, curiously.  
"Healing potion," he explained. "Should help that leg."  
I nodded my thanks and he left. Instead of drinking the potion myself, I uncapped it and poured the liquid into Vex's parted mouth. I may not be humble but a little suffering was good for the body every now and then.


	6. Estranged Assassin

"Like a ghost, she haunts the Cistern, her looks as dark as night, as though she was meant to be the embodiment of Nocturnal herself."  
I ignored Delvin's crude taunts, continuing my pacing, holding the pain back that rose with every step I took. Though perhaps mention of Nocturnal stirred my fire again, making it more easier to block out the pain. I was growing sick of the Cistern, where I'd spent my week of recovery, fueled by potions from Mercer. The majority of which I'd slipped to Vex, taking only a few for myself. She was healed enough to be up and walking. I was still limping. I had killed a thief, I had finished my mission but I'd been gone too long. Astrid would know something was up. In fact, she probably already knew. I don't know why that made me nervous. No, that was a lie. I knew why it made me nervous. I knew who was on my side and who wasn't. But I didn't want that to affect the Brotherhood, for inner conflict made professionals sloppy. And that wouldn't do. As the Listener, I could not allow the Brotherhood to fall or even waver, even if it meant humbling myself to that woman. I paused in my pacing. Damn, she'd enjoy that. Having stopped, the pain in my leg became evident, causing me to gasp and swear, turning my face toward the shadows.  
"You should be resting."  
Vex's voice came from the door leading to the Ragged Flagon as she strode into the room. She headed for me right off the back, offering me her support as she helped me sit down. I smirked.  
"You are not the boss of me," I remarked with a snarl.  
Vex rolled her eyes.  
"Of course not," she replied, almost like she was serious.  
I took a deep breath, rubbing my leg, hating the dress that I still wore. It was all that fit me, according to Brynjolf who probably hadn't looked hard enough. Perhaps I should have asked Vex but I couldn't bring myself to reveal my vanity. Vex shooed Delvin away, taking his seat and offering my the red vial I'd come to realize were potions. I uncapped it and then chugged, ignoring the foul taste so that I didn't puke. Meanwhile, I went over what I had observed. They hadn't left me to myself since I'd woken up. Always, someone's eyes were on me. If it wasn't Delvin, it was Vex, two of which I could stand. Delvin mostly made his crude lines of poetry, usually about my breasts, while Vex would strike up a conversation. She was offering me friendship, something I would not take. I kept my answers to her questions short and unexplained, and though it was awkward, when Vex left, Brynjolf would take her place, something I did not look forward to. He didn't make crude poetry or attempt conversation. In fact, he'd sit there, sometimes with a book, and do nothing else. And that annoyed me for reasons I couldn't understand.  
"Vex," I said.  
"Hm?" she asked, obviously surprised that I was choosing to get the conversation started.  
"Must I put up with Brynjolf today?" I asked.  
I didn’t even know why I was still in the Cistern. Or Riften for that matter. My job was down. It was my duty to return to the Sanctuary, to the Night Mother, in order to receive more instructions.  
"Mercer's orders," Vex explained.  
"Ugh, but why him?" I groaned.  
"Most women would be grateful to have him sit at their bedside," Vex said, her tone implying she was not one of them.  
Well neither was I.  
"I think my leg is functional again," I said. "Just bring me top side."  
"Can't. Those mercenaries are still looking for us," Vex reported.  
I rolled my eyes.  
"I didn't plan on staying in this crap town," I declared. "Astrid will have my head if I'm not back soon."  
Vex shrugged.  
"I'll talk to Mercer, see what he says, kay?"  
I just sat back in my chair a bit, tuning her out, giving her the silent treatment.

 

As always, Mercer brought me the potion and then left, actually leaving the Ragged Flagon. I watched him wave a casual goodbye, heading through the Ratway. In another hour, the few stragglers who didn't have jobs would be asleep. I flopped down, laying on my back, closing my eyes though I couldn’t be further from sleep. Instead, I let myself enter my meditative state, listening to the Guild slowly fall to sleep. I had to wait though. Brynjolf was always the last to go to sleep, poking his head in to check on everyone. I heard Vex come in, slipping into her bed and blowing out the candle. Delvin was out on a job or so I'd heard. Either way, the only obstacle remaining was Brynjolf. I heard his voice, a low rumble as he wished the bartender a good night and then the scrape of a stool followed by the shuffle of feet. The footsteps let me know it was Brynjolf. I knew my body had tensed, knew I did not look as though I was asleep and hurried to correct it, forcing myself to relax.  
"Nice try, lass."  
My eyes flew open at Brynjolf's taunting. He stood in the door, a dark shadow hovering behind him. He nodded at the figure who stepped into the dimly lit room, revealing Nazir. I had never been so happy to see the Redguard, leaping from my bed. He shook his head at the chain of colorful words spewing from me as I landed on my bad leg.  
"Oh, Astrid is not going to be happy."  
"And why not?" I demanded.  
Nazir motioned to me, to the way I babied my leg.  
"She only sent me because she has a job for you."  
"I can still do my job!" I insisted.  
I set my leg down firmly, swallowing my colorful words and walking to Nazir. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, shaking his head, like he knew I was faking it. He looked Brynjolf's way, gave him a nod and stepped out of the doorway. Brynjolf stood where he was, his eyes following my progress until I was passing him.  
"If you ever need help, lass," he whispered.  
I paused, looking his way.  
"I will never need anything from you," I declared. "Vex, maybe. Delvin, maybe. You?"  
I shook my head.  
"Never."  
With that, I continued past him, every step requiring immense effort. Yet somehow, I managed.

 

Bane was waiting for me, dancing nervously in the night-chilled air. Nazir reached out, stroking her muzzle before he swung himself onto his chestnut gelding.  
"Let's go," he said.  
I swung onto Bane, thinking that maybe I should say goodbye to Lilith, let her know I wasn't dead. That I was leaving. It was a fleeting thought and I killed it, urging Bane forward. I should have been happy, finally able to return home. But I felt a strong sense of dread, most likely at having to face Astrid again. I had to remember to keep my head, to not punch her. If I harmed her, I had a feeling I'd have a very angry werewolf to deal with. Nazir glanced my way.  
"Can you run?" he asked.  
I nodded, digging my knees into Bane's side, urging her forward at a faster pace. Nazir did the same and we clattered away from Riften under the cover of night.

 

By the time we reached the sanctuary, my leg ached and my body was hot with what I suspected were the beginnings of a fever. Only one was easily fixable.  
"Where have you been?" Astrid demanded.  
"Following the commands of our dark matron," I replied, face serious.  
I had the childish urge to stick my tongue at her but didn't, instead crossing my arms.  
"Your dark matron is not in charge here!" Astrid snapped. "I am."  
"Then this is not the Dark Brotherhood," I declared. "The Night Mother is always in charge."  
"No, the Listener is!"" Astrid retorted. "And you are the Listener."  
"I have no desire to take your place, Astrid," I informed her.  
She was not making this easy and I knew she didn't believe me.  
"I have no desire to lead whatsoever. But I follow the Night Mother's orders before I follow yours. And there is not much you can do to stop me."  
Astrid said nothing as I brushed past her, passing through the door into the sanctuary. Babette awaited me there, looking relieved.  
"You thought I failed?" I guessed as she took my hand and led me to our beds.  
"No, but I was worried," she admitted. "And I had every right to be. You're limping and you have been hurt."  
I didn't argue, flopping onto my bed, the skirts of this damnable dress wrapping around my feet. Babette observed my current state of dress but said nothing. Instead, she turned to her satchel, digging in for the herbs I trusted her to provide.

 

Blood. That's what I smelled, the taste coating m tongue as I opened my eyes, eyes finding Cicero. Blood stained his hand, dripping from a dagger he clutched in it. I bolted up, putting as much space between him and I as possible.  
"No, Listener, Cicero would never harm you," he said.  
I watched his hand reach for me but I leapt aside, breaking my fall with a roll that brought me to my feet.  
"Listener."  
"Dear Keeper, when one wakes up with someone standing over them, holding a dagger, assumptions are drawn," I said.  
"But Cicero would never hurt-"  
"The Listener," I cut in. "But Cicero-"  
An enraged roar cut me off and a snarling Arnbjorn leapt between Cicero and I, lashing out at the jester dressed assassin. I had to give Cicero credit. He was a slippery one, dodging the werewolf with ease and bolting.  
"Cicero!" I yelled.  
I whirled on Arnbjorn.  
"What in Sithis do you think you're doing?" I demanded.  
"He attacked Astrid," the werewolf snarled, pushing past me.  
"Damn it!" I said, snarling a bit as well.  
I followed at a jog, not as fast as a werewolf though. By the time I entered the common area, Arnbjorn was gone and everyone was coming down from high alert. Babette was tending to Veezara.  
"What happened?" I demanded, walking into the room more.  
As if they were one giant cat, the assassins shrank back, as though I had cornered them. The thing about cats is their tendency to scratch. I regretted the absence of my ebony dagger.  
"What happened?" I repeated.  
"What happened," came Astrid's voice from behind me. "Is that your crazy little Keeper friend went crazy and attacked me."  
"Perhaps you'll remember the next time you wish to speak badly about our Dark Matron."  
My words lashed out before I could stop them, harsh and indifferent. I had no grudge with Veezara. No, that was all Astrid and she felt the same way, ever since she discovered my loyalty to the Night Mother. I rolled my shoulders, standing tall as she continued her steady approach. She stopped just far enough that, if I had had a dagger and had thought about lashing out, she'd be out of striking distance.  
"That Dark Matron does not lead this family," Astrid retorted.  
I couldn't help it. I smiled, a slow, scary and deliberate gesture. I'd used this smile many times on jobs that I forgot my cowl back then, enjoying the fear that I'd see in the eyes of my victim. I'd stopped though, spying myself on one job. It had unnerved me. And it unnerved Astrid, who took a half step back before realizing that her fellow assassins were watching.  
"Get out!" she hissed.  
I was still smiling.  
"Are you afraid I shall take your place?" I asked.  
"Get out!" Astrid repeated, snarling much like her werewolf husband.  
I let my smile drop, glancing over my shoulder at Babette and the others. Gabriella looked smug, as if this was what I had coming. Veezara was looking away, obviously trying to avoid the situation. So those two weren't my allies. But Babette and Nazir both looked upset, not enough to voice it though. That was fine. Festus did that well enough.  
"Now wait a minute!" he objected.  
Astrid's attention went to him.  
"What?" she snapped.  
I listened, barely, to the two bicker and felt horrible, remembering my family, the closeness of my parents to those in the Sanctuary. There had never been arguments. The Brotherhood was not suppose to be torn internally.  
"Enough!" I boomed.  
I focused fully on Astrid.  
"You want me gone, then so be it," I said. "But you will regret it. The Brotherhood needs the Night Mother. And the Night Mother needs a Listener."  
Astrid leaned a bit closer and I regretted not having a dagger.  
"The Night Mother can find a new Listener."

 

Astrid had forbidden me from taking Bane but she was Festus's mount and he urged me to, offering me a blanket to keep me from freezing to death. Astrid watched us with obvious disapproval, her fingers clutching my Dark Brotherhood armor. I would miss it, especially since the only clothes I had to my name were the tavern clothes from my time in Whiterun. Pulling myself onto Bane, I dug my knees in, determined not to let Astrid see me shiver in clothes not meant for Skyrim's weather. This world was not mine but I already had so many memories of it and, if Nocturnal was to be believed, I had blood family.

 

The sun rose, brightly, awakening me. Bane still trotted along, somewhat glum at traveling at night. Perhaps she had assumed we'd be stopping in Falkreath, a hold Babette had told me about. That was not the case. Instead, wherever we were was much colder. I wrapped Festus's blanket tighter around me, rubbing my eyes against the woolly material. My leg ached and I yearned for that disgusting tonic that Mercer had been supplying to me. Hell, I'd even welcome mead, even though it coated my tongue terribly. I pulled Bane to a stop, briefly, surveying the land, taking note of the snow. As if it wasn't cold enough when I left the Sanctuary. Bane tossed her mane, impatient and I almost laughed, had I not been sad. I knew I would miss the Sanctuary. I was no longer an assassin. I was also out in the open, weaponless and my arcane arts were sadly lacking. I urged Bane forward, contemplating my options. There wasn't much difference between thieves and assassins. Perhaps, the Thieves Guild. Then again, that guild meant Brynjolf. No, never. Not in a million years. I would find work and would save up enough gold to buy a sword and some durable light armor. After that, I would track Dyre down. If he wanted the cure, we'd find it. If not, perhaps being a vampire wasn't so bad. I had never much cared for the sun either way. Once more, I urged Bane forward, securing the blanket tighter around my body, praying that Bane knew where to go.

 

I could say little of Windhelm. Only that if one more Nord spit in my direction, he would cease to have eyes. Or she. The snow beneath my bare feet was mercilessly cold but I hid it, focusing more on avoiding the smears of blood that stained both it and the stone path of the hold. A Dark Brotherhood kill perhaps? No, they would never be so messy. Unless they'd been paid to. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. What did I care whose kill it was? The important thing was that it wasn't mine. The thought saddened me more than it should have. I was the Listener. I was born into the Brotherhood, born to a family of assassins and that family was gone. In its place was an imitation, a charade of the real Brotherhood. And it was all Astrid's fault. I knew my face was contorting into a hideous mess as I grew enraged but I couldn't help it.  
"Hey! You!"  
I ignored the voice. No one knew me. It made little sense they'd be calling for me. I was startled then by the hand on my shoulder, turning to find myself face to face with a Windhelm guard. My defenses instantly went up and I kicked her hand away, dropping into a defensive stance. Weaponless of course but she didn't know that. The guard took a few cautious steps back while her fellow guards sort of gathered, as if it wasn't okay to kick one of them. Whoops.  
"Easy boys," the guard said, waving them off.  
She tugged her helmet free, a grin in place. I studied her face, relaxing as a bit as I recalled that she had been the archer from Helgen. The one whose need for a bow had resulted in my escape. She seemed to realize I had recognized her.  
"Nice to see you again," she said. "Without your help, I doubt I would have made it out of Helgen."  
"Shouldn't you know how to use other weapons besides a bow?" I asked.  
She chuckled, running her hand through her chopped short straw colored hair. I kept eye contact, noting that her eyes were neither blue or green.  
"Greir Early-Dawn," she introduced herself as, holding out her hand.  
I accepted it, still wary.  
"Syra," I replied.  
The other guards were easing away, as if they weren't afraid of me. Big mistake. But I wasn't going to just kill Greir for the sake of killing. Besides, I was weaponless. Best not to anger them just yet.  
"And I do know other weapons," she went on. "Just not as well as I know my bow."  
I couldn't argue that. I was excellent at archery, sloppy in my sword art but deadly when it came to a dagger. Which was why I preferred it.  
"You look like you've been through Oblivion and back," Greir remarked, studying me.  
I smiled dryly at how right she was.  
"My living arrangements fell through," I explained.  
Greir was staring at my feet, which were chapped and cracked and bleeding.  
"I can see that."  
She turned to go, waving for me to follow. I did, reluctantly. I'd had a lovely little pile of stone just waiting for me to sit on it and rest my aching feet. By following Greir, I was merely leaving it behind.  
"The Jarl talked of you," she informed me. "When we returned."  
"Jarl?" I repeated.  
I was beginning to gather that that was essentially the same as King or Queen.  
"Who's he?"  
"Jarl Ulfric. He was at Helgen."  
My mind returned to that day, to the man on one end of my dagger.  
"The man with the gag," I mumbled.  
Greir was leading me to a large palace, flames dancing in front. A woman hovered over one, warming her hands. As we passed, I met her eyes, the empty hollow look so much like the beggars from the Imperial City that I had to look away. I never wanted to be that desperate.  
"Where are you taking me?" I asked.  
"The Jarl rarely speaks of…." she trailed off briefly, her eyes flashing to me. "Your kind in a good way."  
Her words were hesitant and wary, as if she thought my reaction would be bad.  
"I'm half Nord, half Dunmer," I snapped, inner rage growing.  
I knew of the hostilities between Nords and the Mer. I'd seen how people acted towards my mother. I didn't like it but the Mer were often just as bad. Either way, it angered me nonetheless but I would not take that out on Greir. I could not say the same for her Jarl though, if he let loose his hostility, I'd let my loose in a hostilities. I had no idea why Greir was bringing me to her jarl though. The guards posted out front eyed me as I passed but said nothing, tensing when I caught hold of the door before it closed behind Greir. I cast a look over my shoulder at them, hoping to convey some measure of disdain, before I stepped inside.

 

Greir left me, standing alone in the middle of a large great hall, my feet somewhat use to being cold now cracked even more, blood seeping out and onto the floor. My leg ached, aware that to my backside was a bench, a place to sit but I refused. Instead, I took immense pleasure in watching my blood make slow trails towards the rugs, staining the ends.  
"It is fortuitous for you that I was not fond of that rug."  
I didn't jump, which was a good thing. Instead, I turned, face to face with Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm. He was swaddled in furs that looked incredibly warm. If this had been a job, I'd have curled into those furs as best I could and found myself considering doing just so for the heck of it. Ulfric, meanwhile, was watching me as he took the steps to his throne.  
"I will not lie, Dunmer," he said, sitting. "You impressed me with your skills months ago."  
"So glad I can still impress people," I lied. "And I'm not a Dunmer."  
His eyes were on me fully, as if he didn't believe.  
"I'm a Nord and a Dunmer," I explained further.  
I wanted to punch him in the throat but that would have meant uncurling my hands from my body and that was all that kept me from shivering my ass off.  
"Regardless," Ulfric went on. "You saw the evil of the Imperialists. I want you to assist my army in defeating them."  
Call it instinct but I let an evil grin cross my face.  
"And if I say no?" I inquired.  
Ulfric's eyes flashed, cold and empty, much like the weather itself. I began to assume he was the reason for it.  
"Then you may leave Windhelm."  
I got the feeling he would do it too. With my features schooled into a perfect blankness, I drew closer to him, taking the steps to his throne with as much confidence as possible, releasing the heat I got from wrapping my arms around me. I could feel his posted guards ready to attack in case I attacked him but I reached out, grasping his furs and yanking them from his shoulders. He didn't move, not even to retrieve them as my frozen fingers tugged his furs around myself.  
"You have your assassin, my Jarl," I said.

 

I threw another log of wood into the fire, crouching close, ignoring the maid bustling around the room, opening curtains that I would just close as soon as she left. Palace life was proving to be far more annoying then I had thought. I eyed my clothes, the ones the maid was trying to replace as I pulled the furs closer around my bare body. Hopefully this fire would warm the stones all around. The one blessing was the rugs beneath my feet gave me a layer of protection for my abused feet. The maid made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat and I hid my grin in the fur.  
"I have to fetch you acceptable clothes elsewhere," she announced.  
I knew she would have to. I had even told her. The clothes that were on hand were made for Nord women, many of whom were hefty and bulky. I took after my mother and Dunmer women were usually more curved than Nords. We were also very thin. The maid escaped, muttering to herself and I was glad that she had to put so much work into making me acceptable as I caught the words "Grey skinned" as she closed the door. I didn't want to be here either but I knew I wouldn't survive a trip anywhere else. Neither would Bane who was under the Jarl's care now.

 

War meetings were boring. I sat back, watching Ulfric and his housecarl, biting back yawn after yawn. Every so often, his housecarl, who's name I had failed to catch, would glance at me, sitting in the chair, wrapped in his Jarl's fur and make a face. I had intended to return Ulfric's furs but could not resist getting under the Nord's skin.  
"Elf!" the housecarl barked.  
I glanced up from my examination of my nails.  
"Hm?"  
They were long, surprisingly, far longer than I'd kept them in my life before. The same could be said about my hair but the new length was pleasant, falling straight like my mother's had, reaching my lower back now that I had chopped off the excess that had made it drag to the floor. Why I hadn't thought to do it sooner escaped me. Now I could assassinate without those pesky hairstyles. It was enough to honor my maternal heritage with the braids laced in the black curtain.  
"Did you hear me?"  
My head snapped up, face to face with the housecarl. He looked ready to explode.  
"Sorry," I lied.  
I wasn't.  
"My thoughts were elsewhere."  
"Well bring them back."  
This from Ulfric. I shrugged, acting like I didn't care. I kind of didn't.  
"As you command," I quipped sarcastically.  
Ulfric let it go, addressing his men.  
"She'll do what she has to," he declared.  
I was glad someone had so much confidence in me.

 

As soon as the war meeting drew to a close, I fell in step behind Ulfric, glad his annoying housecarl was occupied.  
"So, what am I doing?" I asked.  
"I am having a soldier deliver a message to the Jarl of Whiterun,." Ulfric led with.  
He paused, taking the steps to his throne and sitting. I crossed my arms, waiting for him to go on.  
"I already expect he will decline," Ulfric finally continued.  
He seemed genuinely disappointed.  
"So you want me to kill him?" I guessed, perking up.  
Murder was something I could understand. Some things never changed.  
"No," Ulfric said firmly. "I want you to give us a foothold in Whiterun. It requires you to be quick and ,yes, you very well might end up killing someone. For the most part, you are a distraction."

"A distraction?" I repeated, crossing my arms.  
"You can be very distracting," Ulfric admitted.  
I waved his "compliment" away.  
"As you command, Jarl," I said with as much sarcasm as possible. "Point me to Whiterun and I'll be off."

 

Greir was chosen to accompany me, for once not wearing her uniform. For most of the ride, she was silent but she kept glancing back at me every so often, as if she wanted to say something. I waited but she would turn back and urge her horse onward. Now I was curious.  
"Whatever it is," I said. "Say it."  
"Very well," Greir said, sighing.  
She drew her horse to a slower walk, falling in line beside me.  
"I noticed this morning that you favored your right leg more than your left. I assumed you were injured and it didn't heal fully yet. I am wondering if you will be able to do as the Jarl instructed."  
I gave her a dry smile.  
"There is more than one way to distract a male," I replied. "I know because my mother spent much time teaching me what she knew."  
"What an odd thing to teach," Greir commented offhandedly.  
I gave a short laugh.  
"I was cultivated to be an assassin," I remarked, actually amused. "Even the games I played as a child taught me something."  
"That sounds horrible," Greir finally decided on.  
I looked away, fighting not to roll my eyes. I was who I was because of the childhood imposed upon me. Never had I wished to be normal.  
"It was how I was raised."  
I urged Bane forward at a gallop, avoiding further conversation as Greir spurred her horse into action. I let her pass me, slowing Bane when I heard her horse's hooves. Had I actually known where we were going, she'd never have caught me.

 

"Are you sure we cannot be seen?" Greir asked for the third time.  
This time I ignored her, sticking to the shadows, eyeing the wall I intended to scale. I wasn't sure I was strong enough but I would have to be. My leg ached as I crouched, stretching to best judge how much pain I was in for. The dull ache wasn't too bad and I stood to my full height.  
"Stay here," I ordered Greir.  
Before she could object, I backed up and got a running start, managing to find a perfect foothold on my first try. If I hadn't, the situation would have just gotten embarrassing. Below me, Greir gasped.  
"Syra!" she objected as I climbed.  
"Shut up!" I hissed. "You are nothing more than a guide! Now stand there and wait!"  
I didn't wait for her reply, climbing further up the stonewall. As I climbed higher, I discovered there were more footholds and got faster, lifting myself over the top in no time. As soon as I found more reliable footing than a stonewall, I ducked into the shadows, looking around. There were few guards, which was surprising. Then again, Greir and I had left ahead of Ulfric's messenger. No doubt, we'd beaten him here and the Jarl had yet to up security. Which was both perfect and unfortunate. Perfect because there was few guards. Unfortunate because it meant I'd be staying longer in Whiterun. My thoughts went to Aela and, even worse, Vilkas. I did not want to run into them. Aela because she had already dragged me to the bunkhouse and Vilkas because one time stands were messy when it came to talking afterward. Now, if he wanted a repeat, that was fine with me. Shaking thoughts of that night, I rose into a crouch, ducking further into the shadows. If I was supposed to get him a foothold in Whiterun, I had to sabotage what defenses they had up until Ulfric's troops infiltrated the walls. And to do that, I had to get to Dragonsreach.

 

My leg ached, slightly, probably from the excess use. I took a quick breather, hanging from the stone that made up Dragonsreach. After a few seconds, I pulled myself up all the way, leaping onto the small terrace and sinking down on the floor of it. Perfect timing too. The sun was rising, sunlight bleeding across the sky overhead. Soon, the palace would be alive with more guards and further occupants. It would be much harder to infiltrate unseen. That thought had me on my feet, sliding a borrowed lockpick into the lock and opening the door slowly only to have it shoved open by a guard.  
"Halt! Intruder!" he boomed.  
I didn't hesitate, leaping back a few inches as he surged forward, still drawing his sword. I grabbed his hand, shoving the sword back into its hilt. He was taller than me but a quick knee to his jewels sent him to his knees. I grabbed his head, snapping his neck and letting his body fall. Lowering his body to the floor, I grinned. Looks like one of my problems was solved.  
"You'll forgive me," I whispered, kneeling and stripping the guard of his uniform.  
It was big on me as I pulled it on but it would have to do. Once I had finished with the uniform, I headed in, shutting and locking the doors behind me. Castle: infiltrated.


	7. Rescue

Ulfric's messenger finally arrived, a beefy warrior I knew well. Farkas. How he'd ended up in Windhelm was a mystery to me. I only knew of his arrival because I'd killed another guard, the guard that stood in the Jarl's great hall, and, of course, had taken her post. As the Jarl argued with his steward, housecarl and a third court man, Farkas immediately found me. Unnoticed by the rest he tucked a small note under one of the candles on the table, tapping it gently. I didn't understand why I was so surprised. He was a werewolf. It made senses that he could pick my scent from the rest, no matter how many changes of clothes I wore. I smiled. Finally the axe was here. Already, I had altered the inventory lists, making it seem like the Jarl had more weapons, more supplies than he needed. He wouldn't be requesting more for a while. Tonight would allow me to see just how the city would be defended. If I could tamper with even one blockade, that gave Ulfric a foothold he didn't have before I infiltrated the palace. Operating with stealth, I drifted closer and closer to Farkas and that candle, that note, my curiosity rising with every second. The Jarl and his advisors were still arguing the best course of action. Farkas should have kept his eyes on them but was watching me with every move I made. Good. My fingers closed around the note, sliding it into my opposite glove as I drifted to the opposite side of the room, positioning myself strategically so that I could see the room but they could not see what I was doing. Only then did I retrieve the note, unfolding it and reading the short message.  
'It's a trap,' was scrawled across the parchment in neat handwriting that I suspected was Lilith's rather than Farkas's.  
I glanced at Farkas but he was already leaving, the war axe slung over his shoulder. All the while, his eyes were on me.  
"Run," he mouthed.  
I realized then that this trap was about him just as much as it was about me. An arrow slid easily into the wood beside my head. I didn't waste time like many people do and dropped, diving under one of the long tables.  
"Syra!" Farkas yelled.  
His voice was a growl as I felt someone heavily leap onto the table above my head. Swearing, my fingers scrambled for a fallen dinner knife. As soon as they found it I sent its dull blade through the table, feeling the resisting tell of human flesh. I pushed harder still, feeling a sort of release as the blade passed directly through whatever limb or body part I'd stabbed. With a quick yank, I freed the knife, crawling down the length of the table until I was free. Farkas was there immediately, his big hand wrapping around my upper arm as he dragged me to my feet. He let me go as soon as I was up and didn't have to tell me to run. That I did by myself, bolting for the doors. The guards on either side of it had me rethinking my exit strategy though and I changed path before I hit those stairs, running instead for the kitchen off to the side. Farkas thundered behind me.  
"Where are we going?" he demanded.  
I ignored him, thundering down the stairs of the kitchen into the cellar though every instinct I had said it was a bad idea. I was aware of Farkas's stumble but he caught himself last second and just in time to shove me through two very old looking doors which he held closed with his body as if the guards had seen.  
"How did you know it was a trap?" I demanded.  
"I didn't," Farkas replied.  
I gritted my teeth.  
"Lilith!" I growled.  
"She saw your death," Farkas snapped. "That's why she sent me to Windhelm. But Ulfric would not let me see you unless I delivered the ax."  
"I was already gone," I said. "I left before the messenger with Greir Early-Dawn."  
Farkas grunted, low, listening and probably hearing the guards flood the cellar.  
"She's an imperial loyalist," he informed me.  
His eyes were locked on mine.  
"And Lilith got all this from-"  
"Nocturnal."  
The voice came from behind me and I turned, face to face with Mercer Fray. How in Oblivion had he gotten behind me?  
"What are you doing here?" I demanded.  
Mercer's lips quirked.  
"Vex asked me to. It was the only way she wouldn't come herself."  
"Lovely," I said. "What do you propose now, Sneak Thief?"  
Mercer smirked, gesturing to a door, much older looking than the rest. Without a word, he started backtracking to it. I watched him fiddle with a lock, blocking my sight with his body.  
"And there!" he said with flourish, pushing the doors open.  
His eyes found me again as he gloated.  
"I guess we'll be hiding in here."  
I nodded my agreement, turning to Farkas who was reorganizing the boxes in the first room, trying to hide the room we were about to be in.  
"The dust," I began.  
"Only you or I would think of it," Mercer assured me. "Trust me, city guards aren't that bright."  
I wasn't so sure but didn't bother arguing with him.  
"Go!"  
This from Farkas as he stomped over, probably done with barricading us in. He grabbed my shoulder, pushing me into the room. I stumbled, hitting a table and finding myself eye level with a sword very much like my old ebony dagger. My eyes widened at the enchantment that graced its blade. A soft whistle behind me told me I wasn't the only one impressed by it. Following the whistle was the tell tale sound of the doors closing with a gentle click. Tearing my eyes from the blade, I looked at Mercer and Farkas.  
"What now?"

 

"Be calm," Farkas instructed as I once again jumped at the sound of the guards above.  
He didn't touch me, which was good. The disadvantage to never being caught, never being out of control were that you never learned when it was alright to relax. A part of me was pissed that I'd so easily been tricked by Greir Early-Dawn, if that was her real name. The other part was panicked, fearful that after surviving Oblivion, after finding my freedom, I would be captured and killed when I had barely lived. And what of my brother? What of Dyre? Only Nocturnal knew how to cure him and I was the only one she had offered the chance to. I couldn't fail him. Such thoughts were probably why I couldn't calm down. I focused on Farkas.  
"Tell me something," I requested.  
He sat across from me, knees drawn to his chest, his wrists resting on his knees. And in the entire hour we'd been in this damn room, he was utterly silent and unmoving, like a breathing statue.  
"You once said Lilith had become the Harbinger. How?" I asked.  
"She is handy with a blade," he replied.  
He dropped his voice.  
"For a short time, she was of the Dark Brotherhood," Farkas added.  
Any other time, I felt sure my eyes would have widened. But my mind was so distracted that I smirked.  
"She and I both," was all I could mumble, knowing that, with his werewolf senses, Farkas would hear.  
Mercer stood suddenly, drawing our attention.  
"Sounds like everything is clear up there," he remarked. "For the most part."  
Farkas rose as well, cracking his back.  
"We should get going," he suggested.  
He offered me a hand which I took. Still holding my hand, even after I was up, he nodded at the sword.  
"Take it," he said. "You need to be armed."  
I nodded and he turned away, joining Mercer in removing the boxes that were suppose to be concealing our hiding spot. Meanwhile, I went to the table, sliding my hands around the hilt. What felt like a hand seized my wrists so tight I lost my breath, my head lolling back as an image of Kaya, bleeding and lifeless flashed before me. It was brief but intense, leaving me gasping, holding onto the table with one hand as I clutched the sword with my other.  
"Syra?"  
I glanced up slowly, meeting Farkas's worried gaze.  
"Are you alright?"  
I nodded, still unable to speak, to breathe or even to think.  
"We're going up," Mercer decided, already leading the way.  
He burst into the cellar and in only a few great steps went through the next doors.I followed, the blade clutched in both my hands. It was heavier than what I was use to and felt unfamiliar in a hand that had never really lifted a sword, instead using daggers primarily. Or bows. I could hear feet scuttering across the hay covered stone floor, servants I assumed. They stumbled to get out of our path, fear evident in their eyes. I tried not to meet their eyes as Mercer led us to a doorless staircase.  
"Syra."  
Farkas's voice was low as we began to make our way up the stairs.  
"No matter what happens, keep running."  
We emerged into a room so grand it could only be the Jarl's room. It was free of guards but Farkas grew tense, his muscles tensing more and more as we approached the double doors that led into the hall.  
"Ready?" Mercer joked.  
"No," I wanted to say.  
I kept my mouth shut, adjusting my grip on the sword, choosing to free up one of my hands. It was still heavy but the weight kept me grounded. As soon as those doors opened, a guard, patrolling the hallway spotted us. Letting out a shout, he rushed us. Mercer stepped back, a dark smile on his lips. It was Farkas's blade that struck down the man, injuring but not killing. As instructed, I ran, darting to the left, ducking under the attacking second guard. I heard his guttural cry but kept running. Farkas beat me to the next door, shoving it open for me. I glanced at him briefly, spotting the two guards thundering down the stairs. I didn't waste time then, slipping through the doorway with Farkas on my heels. Where Mercer was I didn't know. The realization that Farkas and I were being targeted, not for being assassins but for being spies was sinking in. My life was in danger, not because I had made a mistake but because I had been betrayed by someone I had placed just enough trust in to make it hurt. No, not hurt. Just enough that the betrayal enraged me. I had to live, if only to see her head on a spike.  
"Left!"  
There was Mercer, blocked by Farkas's hulking form. Not for long. He bolted past, heading left as he'd instructed for the double doors. With a kick, they flew open, leaving me an open pathway. I ran out, skidding to a stop. No guards but there was a limit on how far I could go. This was the overlook.  
"Go," Farkas instructed.  
He stood in the doorway, Mercer with him.  
"But," I began.  
"Go," Farkas repeated. "You will be fine. Everything will be fine."  
His tone, so sure and comforting, reminded me of my father and I nodded. Running, I headed straight for that end, a surprising feeling blooming in my chest. Trust. True trust and belief in Farkas that he would not mislead me. With no fear whatsoever, I leapt from the very end of that path, sky born for a mere heartbeat before scales found their way beneath my hands. My heart stopped when the large wings that flapped on either side of me, a dead giveaway of what I was currently escaping on. The dragon beneath me rose, soaring into the sky with a fierce roar.

 

Much like my arrival in Windhelm, I was welcomed by cold. Luckily, this time I had thicker clothing and boots. When the dragon landed, I leapt off, practically tripping over my own feet as I scurried away. The dragon's head swung to me, his slitted eyes taking me in.  
"Dovahkiin," he greeted, his voice a rumble.  
He turned to me, his wings flapping once and stirring up snow.  
"What?"  
I had backed up as much as possible, hidden as much as possible by the rocks of the mountain.  
"He means Dragonborn."  
Lilith seemed to appear, her robes looking very warm given the breeze that started up all of a sudden. She reached out, gently touching the dragon.  
" Syra, this is Odahviing," she said.  
"And I care why?"  
I rose, grasping at the shreds of my bad attitude to hide the fear that the dragon's old eyes brought out.  
"Syra, you're Dragonborn."  
"I am aware," I retorted.  
Molag Bal had taunted me about that constantly.  
"Alduin is here. He's back," Lilith informed me. "And you have to beat him."  
I snorted, shaking my head.  
"I am an assassin. I murder people. I don't save them."  
"Then do not think of it as such," Odahviing rumbled, his huge body rising as he climbed onto a jutting out rock. "Think of it as a..."  
He struggled for the word.  
"Contract!" Lilith hurriedly finished.  
"I'm no longer a Dark Brotherhood assassin. I don't take contracts anymore."  
"I saved your life!" Lilith cried.  
"I didn't ask you too!" I screamed.  
Lilith glowered at me. All the while, Odahviing watched with little amusement.  
"My husband is rotting right now," Lilith said slowly. "For assisting you. He will be killed as a war criminal!"  
"What?"  
"He went to Windhelm because I needed to warn you but I couldn't get away," Lilith replied. "And Ulfric recruited him. I sacrificed Farkas to save you. The least you could do is show some gratitude!"  
Lilith turned away, waving her hands. She was encircled by a white light and then she was gone. I sat in the snow, the cold air burning my lungs as I breathed it in.  
"They were right behind me," I whispered to myself.  
"Do you wish to rescue them?"  
This from Odahviing.  
"I don't know," I admitted.  
He offered me a small nod before lowering his head and closing his eyes. I, meanwhile, sat, tucked away between a cluster of rock that protected my from the wind, bringing my knees to my chest and burying my face in my arms which hugged my knees.  
"Mother give me guidance," I whispered.

 

"The Brotherhood is a family," mother lectured.  
She held my hand, escorting me through the Sanctuary.  
"Here we are all equal in a world where social ties require us to be separate," she went on.  
I looked up at her with eyes people claimed were to wise for a girl of only ten summers.  
"Why then are Dyre, Kaya, Miora and I the only children?" I requested.  
Mother laughed, kneeling.  
"Children are a great responsibility," she replied. "And a treasure."  
I opened my mouth to respond when there was a cry of anguish that had my mother's head swiveling around. The Brotherhood stood in a circle around a wailing Yasha. Mother rose, slowly, her knuckles white as she clutched my hand, dragging me along with her towards Yasha. The Breton woman crouched over a very familiar figure, one that was freshly welcomed to womanhood but still a child as far as the Brotherhood was concerned.  
"Miora!" Yasha screamed, brushing brown locks from her daughter's cold and pale face.  
Mother was kneeling again, this time gathering me into her arms, holding me so tightly I couldn't breathe. I almost complained but could feel her shaking so I kept my mouth shut.  
"Never leave one of your own behind," my mother whispered.  
"What?"  
"Miora is too pale to have died right now. Someone brought her back," my mother explained.  
"Why bring the body back?" I asked.  
"If not, our targets would deface the body. It's a matter of respect, one that I hope someone does for you should you be killed on the field," Mother informed me.  
She kissed my forehead.  
"Now go find Papa."

 

I woke, feeling frozen all over. Groaning, I lifted my head, cracking my neck as I rose to my feet. The last thing I needed was to think about my family. But the dream reminded me of at least one value instilled in me. Farkas may not have been family but he'd come for me, risked his life to save me. And I could not leave him behind.  
"Odahviing!" I called.  
A mound of snow moved, revealing said dragon. His wings stretched, shaking snow off as his head rose, swiveling to look at me.  
"I need to speak to Lilith!" I said. "I'm going to save Farkas."


	8. Control

"What changed your mind?"  
"Don't question me, Lilith," I ordered. "Help me off this..."  
I had to hand it to Riften. They did not seem alarmed by the large dragon landing outside their gates. In fact, one guard had run to get Lilith who seemed highly amused by the fact that I couldn't get off Odahviing. Laughing to herself, Lilith came to me, helping me slide to the the ground.  
"Thank you," I said to Odahviing.  
He said nothing, just waiting.  
"He liked Farkas," Lilith explained. "I get the feeling he wants to help us save him."  
"I need a thief," I informed her. "Can you find me one?"  
"In Riften?" Lilith said. "All you've got to do is find them."  
She seemed unsettled by my smirk but said nothing. She just went with it.

 

"Syra!"  
I ignored the unnerved thieves, focusing solely on Vex as I walked towards her. She was studying my clothes.  
"Took up a job as a Whiterun guard," she observed.  
"Nah," I replied. "Killed one and took his clothes. For a job."  
"And now?" Vex asked.  
"Now I need a thief," I informed her. "Preferably one with an intimacy with the Whiterun jail."  
"None of our men have an intimacy with the prison system," Vex informed me. "None of them are that sloppy."  
I smirked.  
"Pity."  
I turned away.  
"Ah," I said. "But there must be underground tunnels."  
I looked back at Vex.  
"Am I wrong?"  
"We have a deal with a handful of guards in each hold," Vex acknowledged. "They get a cut of our earnings. Or they did. We're not in the best place right now as you can see."  
"The deal goes that they put your friends in a cell with a trap door," I guessed at. "Well I need the way into that cell."  
"Why?"  
This from Brynjolf who joined us with Delvin in tow.  
"Vex," Delvin scolded gently.  
"She was just leaving," Vex informed him.  
She looked to me.  
"I'm sorry but I can't help you," she said. "You've wasted your time here."  
This time it was Vex who turned away. I let her walk away a few steps, letting a slow smile cross my face.  
"Assassins do not have friends, Vex, and an assassin is what I am. I advise you not to forget that. Once you have served your usefulness, I will need you no more," I said. "Prove to me you are still useful."  
Vex turned to me, glaring.  
"Did you just threaten me? In the one place where my allies outnumber yours?" she demanded.  
"You know what? I suck at magic," I replied. "Okay, no. I'm okay at Alteration. For example."  
Vex jumped as the beds in the cistern hit the walls, shattering with the sheer force.  
"Someone better volunteer to be my guide or I will destroy this entire place," I threatened.  
"Ease up, lass."  
Brynjolf stepped forward.  
"I'll be your guide."  
Not what I wanted, given that I couldn't stand Brynjolf. But he was the only one backing down.  
"Very well," I relented. "Come with me."  
I turned, not surprised to find thieves at my back but they backed up as soon as I was facing them. Smirking, I marched through their parted ranks with confidence that I could kill each and every one of them.

 

Lilith was waiting outside the cemetery, pacing but she stopped when she saw me, smiling. Then her face soured. I assumed it was because she caught sight of Brynjolf. I gestured to him.  
"I got us a thief," I informed her.  
"I thought you said you could get Vex," Lilith said bitterly.  
"Don't be so sour, lass," Brynjolf cooed flirtatiously.  
"Syra," Lilith groaned as if her suffering as unbearable.  
"Give me a sec," I requested, cracking my knuckles.  
With no warning, I whirled, socking Brynjolf right in his gut and watching him fall with some satisfaction.  
"Nasty right hook," he commented as he wheezed.  
"She's married," I pointed out. "Stop flirting and focus on getting us into the prison. And then you're free to come back here and rot."  
I turned to Lilith who was grinning widely but trying to hide it. I smirked. Maybe there was more to her than the innocent flower that I usually saw.  
"So, where's Odahviing?" I asked her.  
In answer, a shadow flew overhead, landing delicatly on top of the temple nearby.  
"Sweet Nocturnal," I heard Brynjolf gasp.  
I looked his way, grinning.  
"You're flying in the big league now," I bragged. "Stop gawking."

 

"You just passed the Hold," I informed Lilith.  
After all, she was the one steering this damn dragon.  
"Because even in the dead of night a dragon will attract zero attention," Lilith retorted sarcastically as Odahviing smoothly descended, his claws finding a rock structure that he seemed to melt into, his camoflouge perfect even as he flapped his wings, allowing us the chance to climb off.  
Brynjolf was first, landing solidly and scanning the area.  
"Good landing," he remarked. "We're near the sewers."  
Lilith landed beside him, looking back at me.  
"Come on, Syra," Lilith instructed.  
I ignored her, sliding off and landing on my feet. Or I would have if my leg hadn't gone weak sending me to the ground. I swore under my breath, face red as Brynjolf and Lilith stared at me. He pointed my way.  
"I'm suppose to believe you were some sort of brilliant assassin?" he asked.  
Still, he reached down, lifting me to my feet, though his grin made me want to punch him again. I held off though. There'd be time for that later. Right now, we had to make our way through the sewers to the Hold and from there, the guardhouse. And last but not least, the infamous dungeons. Lilith turned to Odahviing.  
"Will you still be here when we get back?" she asked.  
The dragon nodded, his body stilling afterwards so that he was lost amongst the boulders.  
"Are you sure you're not the Dragonborn?" I asked Lilith as we started for Whiterun.  
"Positive," she replied. "I've touched the Dragonstone and nothing happened."  
"Dragonstone?" I repeated.  
"Guard!" Brynjolf hissed as he leapt off the bridge, ducking beneath it like some kind of troll.  
Lilith followed his lead as I willed myself invisible, calling on the part of me that was Dunmer. Said guard passed by on his patrol, muttering to himself about a bellyfull of mead. Meanwhile, the three of us went unseen.  
"How did you do that?" Lilith demanded once the guard was out of earshot.  
She and Brynjolf emerged and she came towards me, capturing me by my upper arms. Her violet eyes were studying me.  
"You didn't use a potion or a spell," Lilith went on.  
I shook her off, looking at Brynjolf.  
"Lead on," I ordered.  
He glanced at Lilith, as if asking her for permission to move on. She was studying me intently but I ignored her and she ignored Brynjolf. And then he moved on.  
'You cannot hide,' a voice hissed in my mind, bringing with it a swirl of pain in the front of my mind.  
Molag Bal. I didn't respond. In fact, I did my best to ignore him though I could stop myself from glancing at Lilith.  
'Silly mortal. She flaunts her gift but she forgets that we gave it to her and we allow her to use it,' Molag Bal went on.  
Son of a bitch was reading my mind. And the pain was only getting worse.  
'How long do you think you can hide?' the Daedra went on. 'How long can you hold back?'  
'As long as I need to,' I finally replied, fighting back. 'But then, if I start to win, you'll send me back to Oblivion, won't you?'  
He fell silent, his retreat obvious by the sudden lack of pain.  
'Coward,' I shot at him, pushing my success.  
That was too far. Pain fell upon me like a horse and my world went white for a second. It was like I was cut off from the world, falling to my knees but reaching out to save myself.  
'Divine and Daedra you may be but I can still hurt you, twit,' Molag hissed.  
My vision was coming back and I became aware that I was pressed close to Lilith who held my with strong arms around my waist, struggling to hold me up while Brynjolf was in my direct line of sight, his hand on my face as he tried to force my mouth open.  
"Wha-ack!" I gagged, opening my mouth to ask what he was doing and getting a taste of a strong, bitter concotion very much like the healing potions I'd tasted.  
I coughed, trying to avoid choking and succeeded though I belched loudly, fully sagging against Lilith. Brynjolf put the stopper back on the potion, letting out a relieved sigh.  
"Had us worried there, lass," he remarked.  
I shoved him away, shaking off Lilith as well.  
"Let's keep moving," I suggested, hating the weak strain in my voice.  
I felt the tension brought on by the silence that accompanied us as we walked on. I could practically feel Lilith poking around in my mind and I prayed she found nothing. That the last secret I possessed would remain hidden away, never to again be found. The last outsider to find out had been Kaya... and that ended so very well.

 

I grunted under Lilith's weight. Lilith, the Arch-Mage, the Harbinger, the one who spoke to Daedra and the Divine practically on a daily basis...Lilith who was currently perched on my shoulders, her eyes scanning for skeever, as Brynjolf called them, annoying rat beasts that haunted the very sewers we trudged through.  
"Almost there," Brynjolf assured us, glancing over his shoulder enough to reveal a grin.  
I wanted to slap him but withheld. Lilith would definently fall off and after almost being set on fire, which had happened after she'd seen the skeever and hit it full force with a fire bolt, I wanted no repeats.  
"Why don't you try carrying her for awhile?" I suggested.  
"Now, now, lass. I'm just a guide," he retorted, picking up his pace a bit.  
As if he expected me to throw Lilith at him. I only wished it was an option.  
"There!" Lilith exclaimed, pointing to a stream of light.  
Brynjolf shushed her quickly. Since we'd successfully snuck into the city and furthermore into the guardhouse, Lilith had seemed eager to end our expedition. Eager to the point that her outbursts would get us caught.  
"Think," he urged. "So close to an open cell means we're close to guards as well."  
I shook Lilith off, stalking towards the small trap door, carefully, peering upwards. Hay covered the bars above.  
"Most likely its locked," Brynjolf observed, brandishing a lockpick. "Which, I suppose, is where I come in."  
I stepped aside, letting him leap up, wrapping his arms around the bars and fiddling with a lock on the inside.He had surprising upper body strength. Meanwhile, I turned to Lilith.  
"What are the chances we're going to be able to escape out the same door?" I asked.  
"Even at night the guard presence is pretty strong, especially in the dungeon," Lilith explained. "Freeing Farkas is going to require serious stealth."  
"We're in," Brynjolf announced.  
He slowly opened the small door, climbing in fully.  
"Stay down there until I unlock the cell itself."  
Then he vanished, leaving us looking up and waiting. I glanced Lilith's way.  
"You don't have to do this," I informed her. "You have a reputation."  
"My reputation was tarnished the second Farkas got caught," Lilith replied.  
"Let's go."  
Brynjolf had returned, hurrying us along. He pulled Lilith up first and I followed, showing off my own upper body strength. As soon as we were both through, Brynjolf closed the trap door, creeping towards the cell door.  
"We've got a few seconds before the guards return," he informed us. "Find your man and let's move."  
Lilith took off then, her steps silent as she ran. Brynjolf and I followed slowly and quietly.  
"Your job is done," I informed him. "Why are you still here?"  
"Well, lass, your episode in the sewer has me a bit concerned," he admitted.  
I smirked.  
"One time thing," I explained. "Now go."  
His fingers curled around my upper arm.  
"Lass, you saved Vex when you could have let her die. And you brought her back when you could have left her to rot."  
He locked onto my eyes, his gaze intense.  
"I may be a thief but I do have honor. And that honor is telling me that we owe you a debt. And I intend to make sure we pay it."  
I glanced at his hand on my arm and then back at his face.  
"Consider it paid," I replied.  
I broke free of his grasp, glancing Lilith's way to see where she was. She was testing her skills with a lock before looking our way.  
"Brynjolf?" she requested, gesturing at it.  
He shrugged.  
"No more lockpicks," he said.  
Lilith huffed.  
"Then we do this my way," she concluded.  
I opened my mouth to ask her what it was her way entitled but stopped when a ball of fire appeared in her open palm.  
"No! Bad Lilith!" I objected, surging forward.  
She moved to fast for me, acursed mind reader, thrusting the fire at the lock. I had just enough time to cover my face to avoid the fire backlash.  
"Thanks lass," I heard Brynjolf whisper and I realized I had leapt in front of him.  
"No time for thanks," I said as guards scrambled to action, their footsteps loud and clumsy.  
I grabbed Lilith, who had prepared to throw her arms around Farkas in a hug, dragging her with me as I surged into the Great Hall that lay beyond the door to the dungeons. There were fewer guards but the ones that were there were instantly alerted by a party of four singed strangers, one of which was dressed like a thief, another in the garbs of a fellow guard and lastly, a third in the tell tale rags of a prisoner.  
"Keep running," Lilith instructed, as though any of us intended to stop.  
"Now would be a great time to use that little trick of yours," Brynjolf suggested, keeping in step with me.  
"It's much more complicated than you think," I snapped.  
Still, I closed my eyes, satisfied when small objects; plates and tankards mostly; flew from the table, perfect weapons since the guards didn't expect them. I extended my reach just a bit, picking up more and more until I heard a cry of objection from what I could only guess to be was the court mage. I ignored him, drawing small objects from the room to my right, tearing objects, again, mostly small to my defense.  
"OH!" Lilith cried.  
I wanted to ask what was wrong but was distracted as the stone I'd thought I'd been in control of flew towards me. The sight of it broke my concentration and my hands shot up, catching the stone slab before it could hit me. With one touch, what little magic I'd been using seemed to vanish and the weight of the world seemed to bear down on me, my throat closing up for a second before the urge to throw up pushed past that. I opened my mouth to cough or throw up but what came out was neither. What came out had enough force to knock the guards back, their bodies hitting the opposite wall and then thumping to the ground,stunned. I,meanwhile, fell down the stairs, fingers still curled around the stone slab.  
'Welcome back, my Champion,' I heard.  
This voice didn't cause me any pain. In fact, it filled me with strength and warmth and it sounded very much like Odahviing, like it was coming from a reptile. My eyes widened as I instantly just knew. Akatosh was speaking to me! The boss of all the Divine! As quickly as his voice had come, it vanished, the feelings of strength and warmth fading with it. I would have slumped over had we not been trying to escape. Dropping the stone, I staggered to my feet, with help from Lilith and Farkas, both of who'd rushed to my side as soon as I'd fallen, and they practically dragged me to the doors which Brynjolf held open. There were more guards on the bridge and Lilith thrust her hand into her pocket, drawing out a scroll.  
"Stay behind me," she instructed as the scroll evaporated, leaving a glowing blue ball in her hand.  
She threw it into the guards midst and they all tensed, falling over where they stood.  
"Run!" she ordered.  
Farkas lifted me off my feet, bolting. I was surprised to find that Lilith was faster than him, casting spells on the guards who proved to be obstacles.  
"L-" I began, trying to get her attention.  
She dodged as whatever force had knocked the guards back earlier ripped its way out of my body again, hitting the newest wave of guards with an unrelenting force. They hit the front gates, leaving indents.  
"Syra, I know this may be hard for you but keep your mouth shut," Lilith instructed.  
She glanced back at me.  
"I'll explain everything as soon as we escape."

 

I watched Lilith, silently. She was stalling. I could tell. We'd long escaped Whiterun. Odahviing had probably sensed the commotion, swooping in last second as the guards were raising the draw bridge. We'd flown back to the mountain that Odahviing called home and Lilith had been pacing. Except for the times she'd consulted Odahviing. The two would turn to look at me and then turn away, huddled off in their own little world while Farkas and Brynjolf watched over me. I ignored them both, tucked into a little ball to preserve body heat, watching the dragon and Lilith, glaring when they looked back at me. I doubted that I looked very intimidating. I did not look good in the cold. My face got red and my nose ran. It was all very attractive.  
"Bit quiet there, lass," Brynjolf remarked, reaching over with a shred of the ragged robes Brynjolf had been wearing and wiping my nose.  
I made grunts of disapproval, careful to keep my mouth shut. I'd already sent a bunch of guards flying around a hold. As much as Brynjolf deserved to be thrown off a mountain, I'd save it for a bad day. I would need a pick me up. With a flap of his wings, Odahviing launched himself into the sky and Lilith rejoined us, planting herself directly in front of me.  
"You already know you're Dragonborn," she announced.  
I nodded, even though I assumed she hadn't posed that as a question.  
"There are a few...perks," Lilith went on. "And by touching the Dragonstone, you unlocked them."  
I let my eyes narrow a bit.  
"The thing you're doing now? It's a Thu'um or a Shout known as Unrelenting Force. I assume since your targets haven't been going to far, that its only got the strength of one word which is good. Much easier to learn to control."  
"And you're going to teach her control?" Brynjolf inquired, sounding doubtful.  
He crossed his arms.  
"As I recall, someone burnt many of Winterhold's houses when she got around to learning Destruction magic."  
Lilith glared at him. A quick glance at Farkas revealed that he was also glaring, a low growl in the back of his throat.  
"No. The Thu'um comes from the dragons and that power is far out of my understanding," Lilith admitted, still glaring at the thief. "So I called in an expert."  
At that, Odahviing flew into sight, landing perfectly despite the furiously swirling snow, lowering himself enough so that his newest passengers could slide off.  
"Couldn't come to Windhelm, could you?" Galmar grouched.  
Ulfric was silent as he approached, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he spotted me. Lilith interrupted his line of vision, stepping in his path.  
"Ulfric," she greeted.  
"Arch Mage," Ulfric replied blankly.  
"Thank you for answering my summons," Lilith said.  
Now she stepped aside, gesturing at me.  
"As if I could ignore it," Ulfric almost snapped.  
He paused, steps from us, staring at me.  
"Is it true?" he asked me. "You are Dragonborn?"  
"She is," Lilith answered for me.  
"Let her speak for herself, elf!" Galmar snapped.  
My glare went to him. Lilith was not a close friend but she'd done enough that she counted as one. I rose, reaching out to catch Lilith's shoulder before she could retort.  
"Syra?" she asked, surprised.  
I ignored her, approaching Galmar and passing Ulfric without a second glance. As soon as I was in front of Galmar, I merely opened my mouth, deeply satisfied when he was thrown back, slamming into Odahviing who was sitting right where he'd landed. My satisfaction turned into a wide grin and I turned back to Ulfric with it. He looked amazed and surprised. Looking past him, I could see Brynjolf doubled over in laughter and Lilith shaking her head in disbelief. Farkas just looked proud.  
"As you can see, Ulfric, Syra has no self control," Lilith admonished, her disapproving look piercing me.  
I just stuck my tongue out in response. Ulfric turned to Lilith.  
"Such untamed power. I see now why you didn't bring her to Windhelm. But why not take her to the Greybeards?" he asked.  
"Somehow, she already knows a shout," Lilith replied. "And the Greybeards and I don't have the best of relationships, if you recall."  
I'd trudged back in time to hear that little tid bit, looking at Brynjolf who seemed to have done his research in regard to Lilith. He smirked my way, leaning a bit closer to me which made me roll my eyes.  
"Lilith was sent to meet with the Greybeards when she was the Court Wizard of Dawnstar. Almost blew up High Hrothgar," Brynjolf chuckled.  
No sooner had the gossip left his mouth, a blade appeared beneath Brynjolf's chin. At the other end was Lilith, her purple eyes mirroring the ghostly purple of the blade.  
"One more word about my past failings as a wizard, Brynjolf, and it will cost you dearly."  
Brynjolf held up his hands, mockingly, in surrender and Lilith lowered her blade, the weapon vanishing at her command. His grin never left his face. Guess I'd have to wait until Lilith wasn't around to find out more about her. Her eyes snapped to me.  
"I won't bother threatening you," she declared. "But if you want to know something, why not go straight to the source?"  
I rolled my eyes to convey what I thought of that idea.Huffing, Lilith returned her focus to Ulfric.  
"Please," she implored him. "Help her get this Shout under control."  
"Do it yourself, elf!" Galmar snapped, finally joining us, still brushing snow from his armor.  
"Careful," Brynjolf warned.  
"Syra might not be down speaking to you," Farkas added.  
I grinned wickedly at Galmar who stepped behind Ulfric, trying to act like he'd been planning to stand there all along. Farkas and Brynjolf laughed. Ulfric, meanwhile, glanced at Odahviing.  
"That dragon," he said. "Will he assist us?"

 

"Controlling the Thu'um is very easy," Ulfric lectured. "You just need incentive. First though, you must fully understand how strong one word alone is."  
He pointed at Odahviing who was ready for whatever I was throwing at him. Or shouting.  
"You know what to do," Ulfric said.  
I felt a bit bad. After all, the dragon hadn't proven himself an enemy. He sensed my hesitation.  
"Come, Dragonborn!" he roared, spreading his wings dramatically. "Your Thu'um cannot harm me."  
Encouraged, I planted my feet solidly, taking in a deep breath of air. Then I opened my mouth, throwing all my power into a word that felt both unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. Odahviing seemed to stumble , just a bit, but recovered, settling heavily on the ground.  
"Very good," Ulfric praised.  
I even noticed a small smile on his face. He took a place at my side.  
"You've seen what this power can do. You've felt it rush from your body," Ulfric went on.  
He turned to me and I to him. There was something sad in his eyes.  
"Look at that dragon and see those you love. And imagine using this power on them."  
I did as he said, looking at Odahviing, trying to imagine someone I cared for. Looking back at me was Kaya, her red eyes typical of a pure blooded Dunmer. She gave me that smile, the one that she'd given me when we were friends.I opened my mouth with the intent to cry out her name but the Shout ripped from me before I could stop it. Still caught up in the illusion, my body moving on its own, I bolted forward.  
"Kaya!" I screamed, my own voice coming out, in words, rather than in a Shout.  
All that greeted me as hard dragon scale, the force I threw myself into it knocking me back into the snow. Scrambling to my feet, I looked around, surprised, but glad to see that the Kaya illusion was gone.  
'Learn your place,' Molag Bal hissed in my ear.  
Realization wrapped around me and I dropped to my knees, hugging myself. Rage pulsed through me, mixing with my anger.  
'Damn you,' I hissed back at him.  
I expected a wave of pain, felt the first pin pricks of it but something seemed to intercede, an icy touch that was far colder than the snow. Then, both the pain and the cold were gone and my mind was my own again. Didn't matter. I stayed sitting in the snow, not even looking up when Ulfric came to stand over me.  
"Come on," he ordered. "You still have some work to do."  
I looked up at him, seeing my reflection in his eyes, not reacting to the dragon slits that my eyes had become. One blink from me and they were gone.  
"No," I said. "I'm done."


	9. Hunter

"You're hiding something," Brynjolf declared.  
He matched my strides, the only one still following me as I trudged down the mountain. His hand shot out, seizing my wrist.  
"Syra!"  
I turned to him, glaring.  
"I'm not as in control of this Shout thing as I said," I hissed. "You'd better let me go."  
"Come back," Brynjolf urged. "You won't make it down the mountain without freezing to death."  
"No!" I snapped, yanking free of him. "I will not let someone betray me without penalty."  
Brynjolf grabbed at me again, his grip more solid this time around.  
"Look, I'm sure Lilith will take you to Windhelm if you ask her," he reasoned.  
"I doubt that brat went back to Windhelm," I insisted. "She-"  
"She's right."  
Farkas materialized from the flurry around us.  
"Guard presence increased in the dungeon. I suspect that the Legion sent more men than the Jarl knew what to do with," Farkas explained.  
He looked at me directly.  
"If Greir is anywhere, she's in Solitude."  
"Then I'm going to Solitude," I decided.  
"Do you have any idea where that is?" Farkas asked. "Or where we are right now?"  
"No," I snapped.  
"Then come back," Farkas urged. "There's a caravan that stays outside Riften for a few days every few months. They'll be able to get you as far as Markarth and then you can take a carriage."  
I sighed, looking skywards.  
"Fiiiine," I finally relented, though it killed me to give in so easily.  
Brynjolf seemed blown away, watching me follow Farkas.  
"Was that all it took?" he demanded, following after us. "Even I could have done that!"

 

"I do want you to come back," Ulfric said.  
I paused, midstep, about to climb on Odahviing. The dragon would take Farkas, Brynjolf and I to Riften while Lilith returned Galmar and Ulfric to Windhelm. And Ulfric had stopped me.  
"I'll think about it. Maybe. Weak maybe," I told him. "But if I do come back, I'll be sure to bring Greir's head back with me. And I want it mounted on a wall."  
Ulfric nodded.  
"Do what you think is best," he urged.  
With that, he turned away.  
"I will keep housing your horse," he informed me. "But I advise you to consider finding a new mount."  
"Why should I replace Bane?" I demanded.  
Ulfric paused.  
"She's an old mount. Perhaps when she was younger, she was a sturdy warhorse but that is no longer the case," he explained.  
I glared.  
"I'll be the judge of that."  
With that, I turned, holding my arms up for Farkas to pull me up. Surging forward, Odahviing rose, stirring up even more snow.  
"You should listen to him," Farkas suggested.  
"Maybe," I said. "But I don't care."  
"One track mind," I heard Brynjolf snicker.  
"Brynjolf, I suggest you stop talking," I warned.  
Which he did. Not because of my warning though. Odahviing gained speed. It was either mouthes closed or tongues bitten off.

 

I slept in the Cistern that night. Farkas was off on some errand and wanted to be sure I wouldn't be alone. Who knew how the Imperials would react once they discovered the hand I'd played in fooling them not once but twice? Vex avoided me but Brynjolf was at my side the entire time. Delvin joined him, cracking jokes until the wee hours of the night. At first, I was too angry to be tired until Delvin's attention turned to me. By the end of his second story, I was desperate for any escape. I slept little, waking up to a completely silent Cistern. Throwing off the fur blanket that covered me, I rose, my eyes finding Mercer. He was huddled to the side of a large door in the center of the room. Curious, I approached, unknowingly using my a silent walk. Something tipped Mercer off and he turned.  
"Can I help you?" he demanded.  
"What are you doing?" I asked.  
He peered around me.  
"Did Vex bring you down here again?"  
"No," I snapped. "I slept here."  
I crossed my arms.  
"So, what were you doing?" I demanded again.  
"Guild business," Mercer retorted.  
He made shooing motions at me.  
"Now go."  
"You want to lose a finger?" I demanded.  
Mercer's lips drew back.  
"Its...cute that you think you're so tough," he remarked.  
I knew his pause was intentional, to make it seem like he'd had to think of that word. I wanted to glare more, if that was possible, but chose not to, instead choosing to confuse him with a dark smile.  
"I'm sure whatever you're doing, Brynjolf won't mind knowing," I said.  
I turned to go, body tense, expecting a reaction from him but not knowing to what extent he'd take his reaction. Sure enough, his hand lashed out, snatching hold of my elbow. He forced me around, drawing me close so that I could feel his hot breath on my face. It smelled like mead or maybe that was his entire scent. Maybe it was the reek that surrounded him.  
"Breathe a word of this to anyone and you will regret it," he snarled.  
I'd hit a nerve.  
"I'd advise you not to threaten me," I replied, my voice level, giving nothing away.  
I kept my eyes locked on his, holding his gaze so that he didn't see me adjust my weight and stance as I prepared to take his weight.  
"What are you going to do about it?"  
I was so glad he'd asked that. With all my strength, I flipped him over my shoulder, holding in a grunt as I did to make it seem effortless. But Mercer was heavy and he didn't get as far from me as I wanted him to. Still, a key clattered from his free hand. He didn't notice it but my eyes tracked it, watching as it fell into the murky water in the Cistern's middle. When Mercer got up though, my eyes went to him and I braced myself for his retaliation. His fingers seemed to inch ever closer to his dagger and was a statue, bracing myself for the sharp sting of his dagger. He got two steps in before Brynjolf was just there, between us, a solid wall from Mercer's temper.  
"Back off," he warned lowly.  
"Move aside, Bryn" Mercer hissed back.  
"Can't," Brynjolf replied.  
Something changed in him, in his voice that sent shivers up my spine. And not the bad kind.  
"I am Guild Master," Mercer growled.  
"We've got enough bad luck," Brynjolf replied with. "No need to bring the wrath of any other Divine or Daedra down upon us by killing the Dragonborn."  
Brynjolf sounded dangerous and the tone he was using reminded me of my father. It was a threat and a promise in one. It was also a tone I'd tried to mimic but never could only because of the fear it invoked in me. My father hadn't been the only one who'd used it. Mercer backed off then, his glare darting over Brynjolf's shoulder before he hurried away. Brynjolf turned to me, a dangerous glint in his eyes that faded slowly.  
"You alright lass?" he asked.  
"Yes."  
My reply was slow, hesitant, not because I was scared but because I was being cautious. Brynjolf, though, seemed to relax which drove home a particularly unsettling realization.  
"You're not afraid of me, are you?" I demanded.  
He seemed confused, briefly, before flashing his devilish grin.  
"Not a bit, lass. Now let's get moving. Those caravans don't sit forever."

 

I feared that Brynjolf intended to accompany me but he merely led me from the Cistern to Riften's stables. Only a few feet away sat the caravan, Khajiit packing their wares. And speaking with one was Farkas. He cast a glance over as Brynjolf and I approached but made no other greeting. Lilith hovered nearby, covered by a cloak.  
"No," I hissed.  
Brynjolf chuckled.  
"She worries and cares for you," he informed me. "She considers you a friend. Just try not to push this one away."  
"What's that suppose to mean?" I demanded, stopping him with an hand on his arm.  
I hadn't realized how small my hand was compared to his arm. Or just my body in general. He was built like a true Nord, muscled and toned, but he was a thief which meant he was skilled at carrying that weight gracefully. He would've made for a skilled assassin. Brynjolf took hold of my hand, his grin absent from his face.  
"Lass, Vex wants nothing to do with you. And you have something of a confrontational side," he informed me. "I do believe it is all a front to push people away."  
"A front? Perhaps I just don't like people," I argued.  
I yanked my hand back, crossing my arms and glaring at him.  
"If that were the case, you wouldn't be so lonely."  
His gaze softened to something more intimate. I tensed, worried he'd try something stupid.  
"You have lonely eyes, lass," he went on. "And they're absolutely heartbreaking."  
Before I could retort, Lilith popped into view.  
"Thank you for taking such care of our dear Syra," she said, her voice dry as if she doubted he could take care of anything.  
Brynjolf seemed to sense her doubt, smirking her way.  
"My pleasure," he said as if she's complimented him. "I don't mind doing favors for you, lass. So long as I get something in return."  
Lilith shooed him with a wave of her hands.  
"I'll think about it," she said. "But don't hold your breath."  
Laughing, Brynjolf left us. Lilith turned her attention on me, her eyes searching my face.  
"What?" I demanded, a bit creeped out.  
"Normally," she said. "You're such an open book. Its when you're afraid of something that I can't get a clear view."  
I growled, literally growled, at her.  
"Stay out of my head," I ordered. "And go away."  
"Can't," Lilith said.  
She nodded at Farkas.  
"He let slip that you were a former assassin and now they're a bit...cautious," Lilith explained. "I'm going as a bit of security."  
That made me smirk.  
"As if you could stop me if I wanted to kill them," I remarked.  
Lilith matched my smirk.  
"I'm more resourceful than you think."  
"Is that a challenge?" I demanded.  
"One for another time," Lilith replied.  
She nodded at the Khajiit.  
"They're leaving."

 

"You know, you put so much admiration into Brynjolf's body," Lilith began.  
She only stopped when I glared at her, swallowing her words. Instead she grinned, hiding it behind her water skin as she took a drink.  
"You have turned into my aunt," I snapped.  
"Oh?" Lilith asked.  
"She was not my own blood," I admitted. "But after her daughter's death, she too was among those who didn't want me to become Listener. She didn't want me to be an assassin anymore. She wanted me to get married and have a family."  
"You could still do that!" Lilith insisted.  
"No, I can't."  
I rested a hand over my stomach, where I'd seen women with child rest their own hands, touching their young.  
"My first mistake. I was on a job, out of my element," I admitted. "Long story short, I can't have a child."  
Lilith was looking at me, eyes wide with horror. I counted this as one of the few times I enjoyed her affinity for reading minds. I crossed my arms over my chest.  
"Perhaps now you'll learn to mind your own business."

 

In the three days it took us to reach Markath. Lilith looked longingly towards the city walls but my attention went elsewhere. I noticed a very familiar horse with glowing red eyes. Shadowmere!  
"I don't believe it!"  
Lilith was suddenly in my face.  
"A smile!"  
"Forget the carriage," I said. "I found us a horse."  
I grabbed her hand, yanking her away from the Khajiit and towards the hidden horse.  
"You're going to put a target on our back, aren't you?" she asked.  
"You're the Arch-mage. Certainly someone wants you dead," I reasoned.  
Shadowmere glanced my way, unalarmed at my approach. In fact, he gave a soft snort as I touched him. With little effort, I swung myself into his saddle, relishing for a moment the wash of memories that reined down on me.  
"Syra," Lilith prompted.  
I glanced her way. She stood, arms crossed, waiting for me. A part of me felt tempted to leave her. Instead, I offered her a hand, pulling her up with ease. After a few minutes letting Lilith settle herself, I urged Shadowmere forward.  
"Hey!"  
"Busted."  
Lilith's voice was a hiss in my ear. Glancing over my shoulder I saw a very angry Astrid running after us, her farm dress bunched in her hand so the long skirt didn't tangle around her legs. I grinned, lifting one hand to wave goodbye at her, making eye contact long enough for her to be sure that the Listener had reclaimed her horse.

 

"I see what kind of person you are now."  
Lilith had been silent for hours now, which was unusual. Then again, Shadowmere had been galloping nonstop since Markarth but we'd long since left that Hold behind. We were now with Solitude's borders and he deserved a break.  
"Oh?"  
I would humor her.  
"You enjoy taking from others," Lilith explained.  
"Ah, that's where you are wrong. I didn't take anything. I reclaimed my horse," I retorted.  
"He's not your horse. He belongs to the Dark Brotherhood. You are not of the Dark Brotherhood anymore," Lilith countered.  
"I'm the Listener," I argued. "That cannot be changed!"  
I let my tone reflect that this conversation was going no further. Lilith did not seem to think so.  
"It can. And it will. Why is being an assassin so important to you anyway? With the exception of that thief and perhaps a stranger here and there you've killed no one since you were freed!" Lilith pointed out.  
I didn't respond, dead set on ignoring that she was ,in fact, right. I'd done a few jobs during my stay with the Brotherhood and a few random kills. But many had been in self defense. None in the name of Sithis. In fact, I wasn't doing much in his name. Just the thought of a Daedra or a Divine or anything that didn't fit there filled me with an ache. In fact, I felt that familiar ache now. No! I wouldn't let it stop or distract me. I shook my head and focused on Greir.  
"That's it, isn't it?"  
"I'm done talking, Lilith," I snapped.  
"Fine, then do what a Listener does and listen."  
I sighed, contemplating pushing her off the horse and galloping away. Reading my mind, her arms tightened on my waist. That didn't shut her up though.  
"You're afraid. I should have seen it sooner. You've been ripped away from your family, spent 200 years haunted by all manner of creature that lurks in Molag Bal's plane of Oblivion, and then he just deposits you here. And the one place you felt you'd always belong is ripped from you too," Lilith blurted.  
Her grip tightened in a comforting way and my entire body went tense.  
"Even your role in this war won't last forever," she went on, sounding almost disappointed.  
"I don't need a role to play. I don't have this desire to belong," I growled.  
I dug my nails into her hand, forcing her grip to loosen.  
"I don't need anyone!" I insisted. "I use people as a means to an end. You, Farkas, Ulfric, you're all a means to an end."  
Lilith was silent for a moment and a moment only. Her arms wrapped around me again in an even tighter hug. This one dragged the air from my lungs, as if she was holding on in true desparation.  
"Say that as many times as you like," she urged. "If it makes you feel better, I don't care. But you will always belong with me. And Farkas. Use us if you want. But know that we'll be your family."  
My hands clutched the reins, shaking and as pale as I could manage. I could almost swear my vision was blurry but I shook that off, urging Shadowmere faster.  
"Thank you," I whispered to Lilith, just as we were moving fast enough to prevent her from talking.  
Her response to that was another squeeze to my waist.

 

(General POV)  
'She comes for you.'  
Seated amongst the arguing thanes, Greir managed to keep her face impassive even though the sudden voice surprised her.  
'Why do you stay here? Why do you not run?'  
Greir shook her head a bit, wanting to smile but knowing it was best not to. Especially since the general had stepped forward. Beside him was a Thalmor, a handsome high elf that was watching her as if he was in her head, hearing the throaty voice of a Daedric Prince.  
'She will kill you.'  
'Such little faith you have,' Greir retorted  
She found the prophetic tone annoying.  
'I give you this warning as a mere courtesy,' was the reply. 'Once you were my great Champion. I give you your future and there in lies your payment for your loyalty. No longer will I speak to you.'  
'So very like you,' Greir mentally snarled. 'To abandon that which serves you with unwavering faith, Azura.'  
Azura was silent then, fulfilling her promise that she would no longer speak with Greir. No matter. Greir glanced at the Thalmor again. He still watched her while the general now argued with the thanes and the queen. Offering him a smile, Greir rose, leaving the petty crowd behind. As expected, the Thalmor followed.


	10. Prey

"Have I ever mentioned my detestment of Solitude?" Lilith asked.  
She reached under her hood, scratching at her hair again.  
"I think mine has fleas," she complained.  
"You should have brought your own," was my reply. "Chances are, you're right."  
I heard Lilith throw off the cloak, smirking to myself.  
"You're enjoying this!" Lilith accused.  
"I do tend to enjoy suffering," I retorted.  
My eyes trailed over the people of Solitude. Something was off. Strangers in any town meant rumors and stares. The few gathered people and the peddlers were taking great pains not to look at us. Peddlers especially loved to gossip. I glanced to my left, noting the sound of steel against the cobblestone paths of Solitude and knew we were being followed. But by who?  
"Lilith," I whispered to her.  
We were steps away from the shade of a bridge right smack in the center of the Hold.  
"Hm?" Lilith asked.  
I whirled, grabbing her wrist and charged away from the shade for a slanted path that took us upwards. Passing a blacksmith, I reached out with my other hand, knocking him off balance enough that the swords he held fell from his grip, creating a momentary barrier.  
"Syra, no!" Lilith cried as I dragged her into what was a castle courtyard.  
She was tugging on my wrist and I knew why as soon as I heard the gate behind us crash close. I swore, eyes searching for a way out but the other gate was closing as well.  
"Up!"  
Lilith took charge now, yanking me along just as an arrow struck the stones near my foot. I glanced around, noting the strategic positions the guards held. This was an ambush! They'd been waiting for us! Lilith had pulled me up another slanted pathway and we were running along the top of the castle, dodging arrows. It felt like the guards were merely playing with us. They didn't move from their posts, shooting an arrow off whenever one of us was in sight. Lilith pulled me into the shelter of covered portion of the intricate castle top and we both dropped, panting.  
"They knew we were coming," I growled. "How?"  
"I have an idea," Lilith replied.  
I glared her way, more annoyed that there was an obstacle in my way than with her.  
"I sense a Daedric Prince," Lilith went on. "And where there's a Daedric Prince-"  
"There's usually a Daedric Champion," I finished.  
I glanced at the line of men, searching for one that might be even a little bit special. Special enough for a Daedric Prince. They all appeared to be the same generic Imperial mold I'd memorized during trips to the Imperial City.  
"We can't stay here," I said.  
"We don't have a choice," Lilith retorted.  
"We're sitting ducks here," I argued. "They have the advantage. I haven't got a bow and you're the only one who can use magic."  
"What about that trick you did in the Cistern?" Lilith demanded.  
I didn't even bother hiding how shocked I was.  
"Brynjolf asked me about it," Lilith explained. "He asked if I knew what you did. You used Telekenesis, didn't you?"  
I schooled my features into a scowl, wondering which I should tell her. A lie or the truth? I settled for middle ground.  
"No," I replied. "It wasn't. And I can't tell you what it is."  
I added that last bit to stop her from asking further questions.  
"But can you do it again?" Lilith asked.  
I shook my head, somewhat mad that I couldn't. That would have really helped.  
"We should have come at night," I grumbled.  
"Yes but that doesn't help us now," Lilith said. "Like you said, we have to move. What did you have in mind?"  
I glanced past her shoulder, eyes finding a door that probably led inside.  
"There," I said.  
I rose slightly, still crouched, inching around her.  
"Stay here," I ordered. "I'm going to make sure its not locked and that its clear."  
"And if its not?" Lilith demanded.  
"Then leave me," I replied. "Use every inch of magic you have to get free."  
"I can't-" she began.  
"Look, this is not my time," I snapped. "I don't belong here! If I die, who cares? If you care, then name a kid after me but don't throw your life away needlessly!"  
Before she could respond, I surged forward, rolling once and hitting the door full force. My hand went to the handle and I yanked on it in desperation, relieved when it opened. I fell into it, kicking it closed just as arrows both buried themselves in its front and in the wall of the room. I gave myself a few minutes to shake off the full body hit before I looked around. My eyes met the terrified eyes of a Altmer, tied to the sole bed in the room, her clothes ripped. She whimpered, seeing me.  
"Run," she advised. "Before he comes back."  
I weighed the options. If I ran, I might make it out alive, with Lilith, leaving this pathetic soul to her fate, whatever or however horrible it was. Then again, she very well might know ways out of this damnable castle unseen. She had the telltale signs of a Solitude citizen. Slightly plump, indicating she was well fed and probably hadn't had to fight a day in her life. I drew my dagger, bending over her and laying a hand over her mouth. I met her terrified eyes.  
"I'm going to free you," I said. "In return, you have to help me get out. Can you do that?"  
She nodded and slowly, I released her mouth, transferring my hand to one of her restraints.  
"Fool."  
I heard her mumbled word right as I sliced the first restraint. Her fist flew up, slamming into my face. It wasn't hard enough to knock me out but I dropped my dagger, stunned. My guard went up as she sat up, fear no longer in her eyes until she realized that, dagger or no, I was charging her. I didn't get too close. Strong arms grabbed me by my hair,yanking me to the floor and a heavy body fell upon me, knocking the air from my lungs.  
"What was the delay?" demanded the Altmer on the bed.  
I struggled with whoever was on me, a male if what was poking into my lower back was a sign of gender, discovering another Altmer dressed in what I'd learned were the clothes of a Thalmor.  
"What delay?" he snapped. "The entire plan worked itself out."  
The former "prisoner" yanked her restraints off, rising from the bed and fixing her clothes.  
"Bitch," I hissed, spitting at her.  
The Altmer smirked as my spit missed her foot by a few inches. Her companion readjusted her grip on my hair, slamming my head into the floor. Dazed, he yanked my head back up to look at her.  
"Syra, you stand accused of the crime of murder and intent to kill."  
"Says who?" I demanded.  
"I do."  
Greir's voice was one I would never forget. It was this horrid scratchy sound, as if she'd been punched in the throat. Instantly, I fought against the high elf using me as a seat but he was too heavy for me so I ended up looking like nothing more than a child throwing a temper, my feet kicking as I clawed at the rug beneath me. Greir came to stand beside the Altmer who was reading me my rights. They shared a look of satisfaction.  
"I suspect she brought along a friend. No one from the Brotherhood, I'm sure," Greir informed her little friend. "My spy in that caravan reports that it is Lilith, the ArchMage."  
"We have a warrant of arrest for her as well," argued my restrainer.  
"Best not to stir up the Nords by taking their Arch Mage. They may dislike all Mer but they do not like having things taken away," Greir went on.  
She glanced my way.  
"I do believe we can handle this," she said to the fake prisoner, indicating herself and the imbecile on me.  
"Very well."  
With that, the female Altmer was gone. Greir smirked, kneeling before me, drawing her own dagger.  
"Perfect set up, huh?" she asked. "One helpless girl and you turn into a bleeding heart."  
"Bite me," I said.  
Greir smirked, showing me, for the very first time, a hint of fang. My eyes widened.  
"You-" I began.  
"Yes, I am. Bendu here already knows," Greir interrupted. "I needed one person in my confidence.j He's better than cattle."  
Bendu moved at the mention of his name and I tensed.  
"You don't get it, do you? Why you felt the need to free her?"  
"I was going to use her," I snapped.  
"No you weren't," Greir declared. "You see, Molag's plane of Oblivion strips those he sends there of their compassion. You've been there for over 200 years. But its coming back, creeping up on you. Soon, you won't be able to kill without feeling the loss."  
"Give me my dagger and I'll prove you wrong."  
Greir shook her head.  
"No, I don't think I will. You're just a small fry,a resource I'm not leaving in Ulfric's reach."  
She folded her hands behind her back, rising.  
"You will rot in the dungeon for a few days before we return you to the Imperial City."  
My eyes widened at that, making Greir's grin reappear.  
"That's right, Syra, you're going home."

 

(General POV)  
"Release me!" Lilith snarled, thrashing against the grip the Thalmor lackies had on her.  
"You're lucky we're letting you go," hissed one.  
Lilith spit in her face. The Thalmor slapped her before throwing her out the large doors of the Hold. Hitting cobblestone, Lilith scraped her hands, drawing in breath as she examined her palms. A quick healing spell fixed her right up. It did not fix the situation she was in, barred from the Hold and her companion locked in. She gathered her cloak around her, retreating under the watchful eyes of Solitude's guard.  
'Hold on, Syra,' she urged, sending up a prayer to any Divine that happened to be listening at that time.  
And indeed, one was listening very closely.

 

Etienne looked up from his wallowing, blinking to clear his vision. He shrunk back into the shadows, watching as two Thalmor soldiers dragged in a struggling Dunmer. At least Etienne thought she was a Dunmer. He wasn't a hundred percent sure. After all, she was putting up a fight, thrashing and sinking her teeth into the upper shoulder of one of the Altmer. He swore, relinquishing control of her hand to tug at her hair.  
"Fool!" snarled his partner, dropping their shared burden.  
She tore her teeth from the Thalmor's arm, scrambling away from them. Etienne had to admit she looked pretty bad ass despite her bleeding lip and her wild hair. Hell,she was even weaponless and he was almost certain she could handle both Mer in a fight. The Thalmor seemed to think the same. They wasted no time and the one not nursing his wounds gathered lightning in his hand, pointing it at her. She glared, tensing, almost like she was willing to risk it.  
"Cell, now," growled the one whose arm was bleeding.  
In response, she spit blood his way. His partner sent a small wave of lightning her way. She moved just as fast, diving out of the way. She rolled back to her feet, stumbling a bit and falling against the cell door. The Thalmor, ignoring his bleeding arm, charged forward, his good arm striking out and his hand wrapping around her throat. He squeezed with enough force that she gasped for breath long enough that he and his partner fought her into the chains in the cell. She slumped as she gasped for air, too busy with her task to glare in finality at the fleeing guards. Etienne waited until he heard them leave before he slipped his wrists from his own chains. He crept to the bars separating the cells, looking at the new prisoner. Panting, she looked his way, her blue eyes a storm of emotions.  
"How'd they catch you?" he asked.  
She merely kept panting, studying him. Etienne refused to be discouraged.  
"Its best not to fight. They tend to use more force if you do," he went on.  
"Your chains."  
Her voice was hoarse, courtesy of the growing bruises around her throat most likely. Etienne lifted his wrists.  
"Managed to keep one lockpick on me but it broke on the second shackle," he explained. "I managed to bend em enough that they don't close as tightly as they should."  
"Do you still have the broken pieces?" she asked.  
Etienne glanced at the floor of his cell. Sure enough, the pieces were still where he'd dropped them.  
"Got 'em. Don't know what good they'll do you," he admitted.  
She smirked.  
"Not me. You," she said.  
Her blue eyes dug deep into his soul.  
"Broken or not, its still good. And your hands are free. Get out of here.Find the Arch-Mage Lilith and tell her not to do anything stupid."  
"What does that even mean?" Etienne demanded.  
"She'll know."

 

(And Back to Syra)  
I took it all back. Every word I'd ever said about thieves, many,no all, of which had been bad. It had all been a hunch, encouraging the thief beside me to escape. With his broken lockpick, he shouldn't have been able to. But he'd done it. He'd done the impossible. Which could only mean one thing. Whichever of the Daedric Princes that were hanging around had taken an interest in me. It wasn't Molag Bal. He'd would've taken my imprisonment as a golden oppurtunity to taunt me. My stomach rumbled, interrupting my musings and I bit back a groan. If they picked up even a small trace of weakness, my captors would see it as a sign that they were finally getting to me. What other reason could they possibly have for leaving me down here alone for the days that had passed? As if sensing my thoughts, the door above creaked open followed by the approaching footsteps of a single person. I closed my eyes and let my body go completely limp, hoping to fool the visitor into thinking I was out while I watched their every move through slitted eyes. My cell door creaked open and I fought not to tense, even though I really couldn't do anything about it. Whoever was visiting me was using the shadows to their advantage. Even as they leaned in close, I couldn't see their face well enough to recognize them.  
"I know you are awake," rumbled Bendu.  
Damn it! The Thalmor who'd used me as a chair. He now gripped my chin, staring into my eyes when I fully opened them. His own amber eyes widened.  
"Ah, now there they are. Those uniquely blue eyes. I've never seen a Nord or Dunmer with your color," he remarked.  
He licked his lips, leaning in closer, my chin secure in his hand as he buried his nose in my hair, breathing deep.  
"Even now, you smell delicious," he whispered. "I could eat you up."  
I had to admit that I was impressed by Greir. If this was her interrogation method, it was working. If it would get her cattle away from me, I would have spilled every secret I had like water from a fall.  
"Too bad."  
He stepped back, finally, removing his hands but still watching me with his amber eyes.  
"I'm afraid that will have to wait until after Mistress Grier has finished with you."  
"I'm very bitter," I retorted. "And not very agreeable."  
Bendu grinned.  
"You know, I have an attraction to the hearty Nord women," he admitted.  
I stared back at him, face mirroring stone. He was not to be deterred.  
"But, as an Altmer, I am often pressured to support the Mer," he continued.  
His hands were creeping their way back onto my body, going lower than my chin. I hissed as his fingers brushed down my thighs, siezing them as he leaned into me fully, letting his little friend poke against me.  
"But you," he whispered right in my ear. "Solve my problem nicely."  
"I'd rather die," I said.  
"If such is the case, then you won't mind if I get some use from your body beforehand."  
The door above creaked open.  
"Bendu!" a voice snapped. "She's looking for you!"  
Bendu backed off again, looking annoyed.  
"Another time," he said to me, his words a promise.  
With that he left and I openly shivered,praying that I died before he could get his hands on me.


	11. Harkon's Son

He was restless. Greir had fed but hadn't dismissed him which made him antsy. The rush that came from her feeding from him made him hot. And there was nothing he could do about that heat. Greir had forbidden such behaviors in her presence. She knew the effects of the feedings and she was just standing, staring out her window. He rose, choosing to risk it and wrapping his arms around her, groping the parts of her that the armor she wore usually kept hidden. His fingers dug into the soft cotton that made up her dress, roughly, unable to hold back his need.  
"Ugh," Greir snarled, shoving him away from her. "Your insatiability disgusts me."  
Bendu collapsed into a chair.  
"Ah but is it not my insatiability that you adore?" he asked. "Why else have you kept my company so long?"  
Greir did not respond, stomping along in her steel boots.  
"She has not broken!" she growled. "I hear no begging from the dungeon, no pleas for food. She hasn't weakened and I need to find her weakness!"  
"Why do you seek to break her?"  
Bendu rose, touching his chest, fingers twitching with an excitement summoned by the sudden heat he felt imagining Greir's halfling prisoner.  
"Because I know what she is," Greir replied.  
She was eerily still now, staring out the other window in her room, down into the courtyard, watching the soldiers train.  
"Ghosts have haunted me since I was born, of that I am certain. They no longer do but there was one in particular that had a great influence on me," she explained.  
Her smile was dark and maniacal.  
"Perhaps... a ghost from her past is what I need."  
Greir looked at Bendu.  
"Be a dear and put that energy of your to use," she barked.  
As much as he wanted to argue and offer suggestions that would get him the halfling, he knew better than to make them. Instead, he rose, cracking his neck.  
"Where will you have me go," he inquired, voice cool and unfeeling, hiding the rage and dissatisfaction he felt.  
"Volkihar," Greir ordered, offering him a map she'd slipped from her desk.  
He took it, studying it briefly.  
"And when I get there?"  
His fingers traced the marked path.  
"Ask for Harkon's son."

 

(SYRA)

The shiver down my spine meant one thing. I let my eyes open, surprised that it was still possible. I had no sense of time but I knew that I wouldn't be too far off if I assumed it had been days since my last meal. I was basically malnourished. But it was almost like I had no ill effects of that. Which meant the exact same thing that the shiver did. I looked up, slowly, spotting the flickering being before me. They appeared to be reaching for me, what I could see of their skin a golden color. I'd been wrong. This was no Daedra.This was a Divine. My realization fed her, bringing forth the body of Mara. Her kind smile blinded me as if I'd been staring at the sun but it disappeared when she saw my face and what had to be my contempt for her radiating off it. Or maybe because I wasn't who she was expecting.  
"You," was all she said.  
"Me."  
It made sense now. I was hungry but not starving, thirsty but not desperately so. Like a good mother, Mara was protecting me from the worst aspects of my imprisonment. It was a hard realization to take but a necessity that I knew I needed. Her smile returned, catching me off guard.  
"A girl, a daughter and one day, a mother," she said. "Your future is bright."  
"My future seems to merely involve this small cell and then the Imperial City," I pointed out.  
And then a coffin, probably unmarked. Mara merely smiled, gently touching my cheek. A warming sensation seemed to ease my ailments and I realized she'd blessed me.  
"I see your path," she intoned. "It is a hard one and you will know many scars, many hurts. But awaiting you at the end is love and acceptance."  
I didn't bother to argue with her. Divine or not, the only thing waiting for me at the end of my path was death.

 

(GENERAL)

 

She'd neglected Winterhold for some time, preferring warmth to the chill that seeped into the stone. She wasn't a werewolf like her husband who had made himself scarce in the minutes prior to her meeting. Despite that, she had returned. And not because she was Arch-Mage. Skyrim needed her Dragonborn and her Dragonborn was locked away, probably witness to every possible torture at Greir's disposal. Lilith hissed, pricking the finger that she'd been trailing along the tip of one of her daggers. Testing just how sharp it was. As Arch-Mage and an Altmer with high breeding, she'd had the privilege of a vast amount of spells known to very few. That was another reason she'd returned. Winterhold had its own seemingly endless supply of magicka and she would need it for this particular spell. But her magic only went so far. Against Solitude, the Imperials and the Thalmor, she would need an army. Behind her, the door to her quarters groaned as it opened. Lilith fought back a smile, turning, not at all surprised by the entourage of brown and blue tunics she saw surrounding her ally.  
"Ulfric Stormcloak," she greeted, trying to sound regal and political.  
She'd gone through all the trouble too, digging up the robe made specifically for her when she'd assumed the Arch-Mage position.  
"We have much to discuss."

 

Vampires. A castle full of them. Bendu hadn't wanted to believe the sniveling Imperial guards that had been forced upon him. They were, after all, backwoods Nord farmers. What did they know of castles. Apparently much more than he and that simply would not do. The Thalmor, no, all Mer were superior to the other races. If he didn't know something, it was simply because it was beneath him. As he drew closer to the gates, the gatekeeper appeared, eyes narrowed and suspicious. Bendu signaled to his men to halt, letting him continue on alone. They were more than happy to accomadate him. If they'd been Thalmor, they would've insisted but no guards had been assigned to him. Dalia knew what Greir was, suspected it more likely. And she knew Bendu was feeding her. To demote him or even send him away, she'd have to tell her superiors the reason and that would reflect badly on her. She was probably biding her time, waiting for him to become a vampire so that she could kill him. Bendu smiled at that thought as he paused just three steps shy of the gate.  
"I am Bendu," he declared. "In the name of Greir Early-Dawn, I come seeking the son of Lord Harkon."  
The gatekeeper said nothing, leaving his post to retreat inside. Bendu touched the gates, judging just how much of his magic it would take to rip it from its hinges. He decided against it. Even if he succeeded, would he have enough power left to fight off a castle of vampires?  
"That's not a good idea."  
Bendu's gaze flickered away from the gate, landing on the vampire awaiting him in the shadows by the door.  
"The son of Harkon, I presume?"  
Red eyes began to glow and the vampire stepped forward. He was Nord, his brown hair long so that it rested at his shoulders. He had a single braid at the left side of his head and war paint decorated his left eye. Strange. It was a tradition of the Mer rather than the Nord.Bendu chose not to dwell. After all, he was highly attracted to Nord women. If the Nordic equivalent to him stood before him, so be it.  
"You say Greir has sent for me," the vampire prompted.  
His voice was hypnotic. Bendu fought to avoid being pulled in.  
"Yes," Bendu replied. "She did not tell me why."  
The vampire sniffed.  
"No, I suppose she would not," he said, voice haughty as if Bendu was no more than a bug.  
It angered the Mer more than he wanted to admit but he stayed his hand.  
"I have my suspicions that it pertains to a captive spy my mistress has caught," Bendu went on, spitting out that horrible word.  
Mistress. Vampire or not, she was a Nord. He did not serve her. Not truly.  
"A halfling named Syra."  
Red eyes flashed with absolute shock but only for a second. They retreated behind a mask of cold indifference.  
"Take me to Greir."

 

(SYRA)  
I was using my solitude wisely. With my head settled in the crook of my arm, I slept. And memories washed over me. Things I hadn't realized I'd forgotten came back to me. And if what Greir said was true, these memories had been lost because of the emotions they awoke. I remembered my mother so much more clearly now and my father. For assassins, they were kind. While many in the sanctuary left or sent their children away, they kept us. They chose to keep us. They taught us. Us. Dyre and I. I could remember him well, his face almost all Nord except for his eyes. I had father's ice cold blue, he had mother's Dunmer red. I missed my brother for a fleeting second until all my memories zoned in on that night. The night he'd convinced me to do what siblings should never do. I shut it down. I closed the gates that had crashed open, blocking my memories, good and bad from drifting in. With a start, I woke up, shaking my head. My sudden movement startled the Thalmor lackey who'd come with the water I now lived on. Still no food. He glared my way, suspicious and I glared back. I wasn't any happier than he to be so helpless and reliant. I bared my teeth, hissing at him, for lack of anything else to do. The guard visibly recoiled, his face contorting.  
"Tsk, tsk."  
The voice surprised the guard as much as it did me. Guess who hid it better? The hooded figure emerged from the shadows, the top half of his face hidden by the shadows.  
"Showing such weakness in front of a prisoner? Unacceptable."  
Before the guard could speak in his own defense or even make a sound, a hand shot out from the shadowed tent of the cloak, the fingers attached piercing the soft flesh of his throat and continuing on until I saw the wrist emerge from the other side. I'd seen many a sick thing but this was most certainly the worst. Slowly, as if savoring each second, and with a sickeningly wet sucking sound, the hooded stranger drew their arm back, letting the body just fall to the ground.  
"I do so hate to dirty my clothes," the cloaked stranger declared.  
"You're sick!" I snarled, yanking at my chains.  
I felt no loyalty to the guard nor sympathy that he was dead. I was a bit saddened at the loss of the water which had fallen and spilled when he had. But animosity was my best defense in the face of the unknown. After all, the Thalmor and Greir were a known evil. This stranger was not. I could practically hear his smile as he reached up with his clean arm, unlatching the pin holding his cloak in place. He stepped into my cell, his red eyes flashing as my own blue ones widened. His grin revealed vampiric canines, the likes of which I'd seen only once and only briefly.  
"Hello Syra," he said.  
His greeting summoned my own voice from the cave it had meant to conceal itself in.  
"Dyre."


	12. The Dragonborn Job

I was born to be an assassin. Father always said so. He would take me along, once I became an active member of course, on some of his more basic jobs. Afterwards, we would linger wherever it was we happened to be. Just because we were assassins didn't mean we couldn't enjoy the world around us. And enjoy it we did. I remember my father so clearly. He encouraged me to become an assassin. But he encouraged me to dream also. He was a good man and I trusted him with everything. Everything except what my brother and I had done. I loved Dyre and knew that while my mother did not play favorites, my father did. I was bloodthirsty and simple but Dyre was not. He was soft to my father who would kill an injured bird rather than nurse it back to health. To admit to my father what had conspired was to admit weakness and that I wasn't so simple. That I had emotions. And perhaps I believed he would dislike my dear brother more. The monster standing before me though, my brother, would have shamed my father. Not for the fact that my father would've been wrong about the level of bloodthirstiness in my brother but by the fact that it had taken become one of the undead to achieve such status. Red eyes seemed curious by the longlasting silence but words were lost to me as I stared at the man my brother had become. No, not a man. The monster. I mentally kicked myself. With my savagery, wasn't I too a monster? As if he was one with my thoughts, Dyre grinned, nodding at the discarded Thalmor body.  
"Wouldn't father be proud?" he chuckled.  
My shock was wearing off and I glared.  
"Of you? Ha!" I barked.  
He seemed unimpressed, stepping closer, his cold hand brushing my cheek and finding my hair. He was never like that, never cold. Dyre was always so warm. He was sunshine and warmth. He wasn't suppose to feel this cold. In truth, he felt like a corpse.  
"Don't touch me you monster!" I hissed.  
For extra measure, I spit in his face. His fingers tangled angrily in my hair and he yanked my head back harshly, exposing my throat. I feared that I'd feel those ivory fangs of his at my throat any second. Instead, he glared into my eyes, briefly, as if that was how long he could be mad at me.  
"There's my Syra," he whispered.  
Gently, just like the old Dyre, he pressed his lips to mine. If it had been anyone else, it would've been a perfect kiss. But it was my brother. I fought back, my mouth closed tightly against his tongue even as he tried to first tease my lips apart, then force them. Growling in frustration, he drew back.  
"Sister, you shall submit!" he snarled, face twisting in a way that was in no way human.  
"I am your sister," I argued. "What does that mean to you? Because it cannot mean the same thing for both of us."  
Dyre said nothing. He whirled in a hurry, slamming my cell door shut and stomping away, more like a petulant child than an angered vampire.

 

(GENERAL)

No doubt she had denied him, as Grier predicted. She couldn't help but smile as the older vampire stormed in, emotions flashing across his face even as he fought them, trying to don his usually impassive mask. Greir pretended not to notice, hiding the gleeful grin behind her goblet.  
"She did not submit?" Grier ventured after a minute.  
Dyre responded with a snarl.  
"I warned you. She was too willful," Grier lectured. "We must break her."  
"I will not torture her," Dyre declared. "My hands have never done her harm nor will they ever."  
Grier tried to contain her excitement as she clutched her goblet, her shaking fingers her only tell.  
"So it shall be. I will torture her personally to see that she is not too badly harmed," Greir offered. "But I require but one thing from you."  
Dyre said nothing, turning his impassive mask to her now. Grier almost laughed in his face. He could not fool her. The mask he wore now was only a dim shadow of carelessness compared to his usual one. Syra had gotten further beneath his skin than anyone in a long time.  
"I need her weaknesses. Her fears," Greir said. "And only you can give them to me."  
Dyre just watched her with the silent contempt he'd perfected after years in Harkon's shadow, learning to deal with the undesirables around court.  
"She was never a strong swimmer," he said. "For all her stealth, she never figured out how to hold her breath well."  
Greir almost lost it. Almost grinned wickedly but held it, rising.  
"Thank you," she said.  
Without another word, she left, breaking into a wicked grin as soon as she was out of his sight.

 

"You need rest."  
Lilith barely heard Farkas's words over her yawn. He was right, of course. Her negotiation with Ulfirc had cost her hours. But she couldn't rest. Not yet. No. She had another meeting. One that would prove to be more difficult than her chat with the Jarl of Windhelm. There were two entrances to her room and she heard them both open at the same time. Farkas did as well, a low growl starting in his throat. Lilith rose just as Astrid appeared, Arnbjorn trailing behind her. From the other door came Maven Black-Briar.The two women paused, eyeing each other. Lilith let them, watching both with a guarded expression on her face.  
"Ladies," she finally said, making it obvious that she intended to ignore the uninvited guest that was Arnbjorn.  
The werewolf didn't seem to care. He was focused on Farkas. Reluctantly, Astrid and Maven drew their attention away from each other and focused on Lilith who offered them a smile.  
"Why did you call us here?" Maven demanded.  
Astrid merely crossed her arms. Lilith sat in her chair, gesturing to the other two inches from her. She waited for them to figure out what she meant. And they did, rather quickly, each taking a seat to move things along rather than argue further.  
"Allow me to tell you two a story," Lilith offered.  
She hurried on before either could object.  
"Some time ago, a girl appeared in Skyrim, a girl that didn't belong here. And she wasn't just some silly girl. She was the Dragonborn and she was the Listener."  
Astrid's eyes narrowed but she kept her mouth shut.  
"She found no home amongst her people," Lilith went on, looking directly at Astrid.  
The assassin still said nothing though her glare had intensified.  
"Listener or not, she is the Dragonborn. The only one able to defeat the dragon Alduin," Lilith went on. "And she's been captured by the Thalmor."  
"What do you want us to do about it?" Astrid demanded.  
Lilith smiled again.  
"I'm so glad you asked," she said. "The Dark Brotherhood is going to set up a safe house for her to recover in, one far enough away that they won't find her without giving me a heads up."  
She turned her attention to Maven next.  
"As for you, I know the pull you have in the Thieves Guild."  
Maven merely crossed her arms, waiting, no doubt ready to lay down her own terms in response.  
"I need their best. And whoever that is, let them know they're going to be stealing back the Dragonborn."

 

(SYRA)

 

Something was happening. I could hear them upstairs, excitement fueling their movements. Was today the day? Would I be going to the Imperial City now. I was almost excited. Losing my head was a faster death than starving. The doors creaked open and I could hear multiple voices arguing and griping. A new prisoner maybe? What kind of selfish did one have to be to believe that the Thalmor would so soon focus on them when their captors had an entire war going on? But it was not a new prisoner the guards brought. No. It was a trough, one that a horse or pig would eat or drink from, filled to the brim with water. And Grier accompanied it. She smiled at me as her men set the trough down, water sloshing onto the floor.  
"Bendu, fetch our prisoner."  
As if there was any question who that prisoner was. What energy I had in me told me to fight but my body refused to accept it, even as Bendu invaded my cell, his hands on me. His touch still repulsed me but I couldn't find enough energy to do anything about it. Under Grier's watchful eye, he dragged me towards the trough, handing me off to two Thalmor soldiers. The two forced my arms behind my back, holding me like that. I managed to glare at Grier who was all but crowing in triumph.  
"Anything to say, assassin?" she asked.  
"Scum," I hissed her way.  
Her eyes narrowed and she nodded at her men. I felt fingers grasp the top of my head and suddenly I was plunged, face first, into the water. I swallowed most of it, choking, before they pulled me back out.  
"You will admit to your crimes, here and now," Greir instructed. "You worship Talos and sought to eliminate me when I discovered your worship."  
I coughed up water, as if it was in my lungs. Talos worship? I figured she'd catch me for being an assassin. Was that not enough to get you beheaded anymore.  
"I won't," I managed.  
Greir smiled again and I was back under water. This time I expected it, managing to draw in enough air so that I wasn't immediately drowning. They kept me under longer, only pulling me back up when I had released what air I'd been holding, resulting in bubbles as I struggled. This time, when the air was reintroduced to me, I threw up what I could on the guard's shoes, deeply satisfied. I lifted my face to Grier and her icy glare. I had a feeling I was taking the fun out of it for her.  
"I worship no one, Divine,Daedra or man," I spat. "And I will never falsely admit to that."  
Something changed in her guards at the conviction in my voice.  
"Ma'am," one whispered. "If she doesn't worship Talos, we-"  
His words were stopped by Grier's hand curling around his throat.  
"You will submit," Greir declared.  
My response to that was a mere quirk of my lips. And then it was back into the trough.

 

(GENERAL)

 

It was rare for Maven to enter the Cistern. As soon as he saw her, Etienne rose, just as curious as his fellow thieves. He was the only one who dared get close enough, using the ruse of digging through one of the Guild chests. Even then, he only caught bits and pieces of their conversation.  
"....best interest," he heard Maven saying.  
"....absurd," was Mercer's gruff response.  
Now was one of the times he was part of the group's main circle. Vex was shaking her head, clearly taking the opposing side with Mercer. Delvin was silent, for once, looking serious as he thought. And Brynjolf was stroking his chin hair, as if this decision was a hard one.  
"Who would even agree?"  
Mercer's voice resounded off the walls as he swept his hand across those gathered.  
"Lass never seemed so important," Brynjolf murmured, his voice lost.  
"You know I can make your life difficult," Maven growled.  
Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.  
"Let's put it to a vote," Mercer proposed. "Or a volunteer?"  
"I want your best!" Maven insisted.  
She was absolutely furious, hiding behind her angry eyes as she stared at Mercer, no doubt calculating the amount she'd have to pay an assassin to kill him. Mercer ignored her, facing his guild.  
"I got a job!" he bellowed.  
"What's it pay?" Sapphire asked.  
"Not a septim," their leader replied with a sneer.  
Murmurs rose up, unwilling as a few backed off. It was the perfect plan. Even Etienne was hesitant. He hadn't been on a job for awhile, recovering still from his torture. He needed coin and any job from Maven could prove hazardous.  
"I'll do it."  
Mercer whirled around, facing Brynjolf with almost loosened rage. The other thief didn't seem too worried. Mercer may have been Guild Master but Brynjolf had the Guild's respect and their loyalty. Slowly, Brynjolf rose.  
"Do you have any details, Maven?" he asked, ignoring Mercer.  
"Bryn," Delvin warned.  
"If you take this job, you will never be part of this Guild again," Mercer threatened.  
Brynjolf faced him, staring, it seemed, into his very soul. His eyes scanned a glance around the Cistern, the choice very clearly painful for him. Finally, his shoulders slumped and Mercer grinned in triumph. At least until Brynjolf turned to Maven.  
"Do you have any details?" he repeated.


	13. Innocence Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to edit here and reintroduce the Trigger Warning ahead. There is a reason this is marked w/ Rape/Non Consensual and I want any potential victims to know that this is where it gets worse. I want you to be able to protect yourself from any PTSD or flashbacks for your own mental health. Please stay safe.

I grasped the straw of my cell, digging through it, hoping I'd find a way out. To no avail. Shivering in my still damp rags, I stopped and buried myself in the straw instead for warmth. It wasn't much better but at least I wasn't chained to the wall. Grier had decided it wasn't necessary anymore. She was probably right. When they'd dragged me down, I'd fought tooth and nail. When they they put me back in my cell now, I could barely hold my head up. I was exhausted, admittedly. Through the bars in my cell, I could see the trough and visibly cringed, using my sapped strength to turn away from it. I wished I hadn't. I wished I'd saved my strength. Because as I resettled amongst the straw, the door above creaked open, the sound sending pure terror with its cold, double edged blade straight into my heart. I froze, imitating the stillness of sleep as best I could. I could hear the sound of gauntlet meeting the cell bars and felt eyes on me, fighting the urge to shudder, to reveal that I was awake. All my control went out the window when I heard-  
"Halfling."  
Bendu had come for me.

 

(GENERAL)

"And these," Lilith said, handing Brynjolf her daggers.  
"Lass, I've got a sword," he said.  
He didn't want to make her mad, taking the weapons anyway.  
"Something was wrong," Lilith said.  
She looked pretty damn dramatic, standing in the cold wind of Winterhold, looking past the city and college, as if she could see Solitude. Brynjolf suddenly realized just how terrifying she could be.  
"The taint of a Daedric champion hung over the Hold," Lilith went on. "And it was so dark."  
She shivered and her husband moved to wrap her in his arms, to share his warmth. Brynjolf watched the pair for a second before he began fiddling with the daggers.  
"Those are silver," Lilith informed him, cuddling into Farkas. "Enchanted by fire."  
"What do you expect me to run into?" Brynjolf asked.  
Lilith's eyes seemed to glow a more vibrant violet and her head cocked as if someone was whispering secrets into her ear, someone who wasn't her husband. Someone who probably wasn't even there.  
"Everything," was Lilith's response.  
She withdrew from Farkas's grip, approaching Brynjolf. He tensed but she wrapped her arms around him in a platonic hug.  
"Bring her back," she whispered.  
"I will," Brynjolf swore.  
Lilith stepped back, her eyes toned down now. She was smiling, though it was weak, as if she knew something bad would happen. Or was happening. Her eyes went to the sky as she whistled. Brynjolf followed her gaze, watching as a dark form emerged from the snow and wind. He remembered this dragon, the one that had taken them to Whiterun not too long ago. He smirked, almost wanting to make a joke but chose not too. Best not to anger the dragon he was going to spend hours with.  
"Thank you, Odahviing," Lilith said.  
The dragon spoke, his voice a rumble, in a tongue Brynjolf had never heard. Then his reptilian eyes swung to Brynjolf.  
"Come," was all he commanded.  
The dragon hadn't landed, lifting into the air without his thief rider. Brynjolf glanced at Lilith who smirked his way.  
"Run and jump," she instructed.  
Brynjolf almost hesitated until he remembered what was at stake.  
"When I get her, where do I bring her?" he asked.  
"Odahviing knows," Lilith assured him. "Trust him."

 

(SYRA)

 

No pretense now. As soon as Bendu was in my cell, I was on my feet, not so foolish as to back myself into a corner. Bendu didn't seem to care as he stepped closer. He left the door open, foolishly, and that would be my way out. We stared at each other, neither moving. Until...he did. He lunged for me and I dodged to the side, hurrying for the door. I almost made it too, except Bendu, last second, grabbed my hair, yanking me back. I may have been taught never to panic but I did now, fighting wildly, wasting precious energy on desperation. I screamed, for all the good it would do me, kicking. Bendu buried his nose in my hair, sniffing deeply. His chuckle was a bell in my ear.  
"Can you really fight me?" he asked.  
I couldn't but I wouldn't let him know that. So I bit him. It did little to him, maybe angered him a bit since he threw me against the wall, pinning me there. He lifted me so that our waists were level and, I suspected, for ease of access. I could feel him already poking me and I struggled, clawing at his face with my nails. Or the dirty stumps that had been my nails. He grunted at them as they cut him, grabbing my arms and pinning them above my head. I struggled, I will admit that, but my neglect while in Greir's care was too much. Bendu used that to his advantage, more skillful than I thought as he slid his free hand up my shirt. His hand found my breast, sending sharp aches of cold from his gauntlet. I cried out, struggling against his hold. He was merciless, turning my weak body against me with such ease. I didn't even noticed when he'd released my arms, giving me freedom to fight back. Freedom I didn't take. Because even though he disgusted me, my body was drawn to his warmth.  
"Good, Halfling," Bendu whispered, relieving me of my shirt with a quick, tearing sound.  
As soon as his mouth neared my breast, I bit him, savagely. He responded by slapping me, the gauntlet leaving behind a ringing in my head as he dropped me to the floor.  
"Fine," he snarled. "If that's how you want it."  
He moved faster than me, yanking at my pants. They tore as well, freeing my legs more and revealing parts of me I wanted Bendu to have nothing to do with. I drew back, kicking him in the face, breaking his nose and scurrying out of reach as he blindly grabbed for me.  
"Bitch!" he hissed.  
His eyes found me, just as I crossed the doorway from the cell. I could hear him behind me, felt his fingers briefly touch my waist before a strong current of wind took him away from me. I good heard the cries of a man dying but didn't know yet what he was dying from. Not until Dyre stepped from the shadows that seemed to follow him, his red eyes taking in the mess of me.  
"Dyre," I whispered as he approached, body like a cat's.  
I didn't get another word in. With his vampire speed, he pinned me, silencing me with a kiss I couldn't break, no matter how hard I tried.  
"Dyre,no," I managed when he drew back to give me air.  
"Syra, hush," he whispered.  
His eyes took me in, every trace of Dyre gone by a hungry and enraged animal that was over me ready to devour me. And devour he did, his fingers forcing me legs apart. For Dyre, there was no foreplay, only the act itself and he secured his grip on my legs, somewhere in all this unfastening his armor enough that he could hold himself in his hand. Fight as I might, I was no match for a vampire. He smiled at me, his fangs glinting in the dim light.  
"Together again," he said.  
And then he entered me, far bigger than I remembered and after so long celibate, it felt as though he was tearing me apart. And he didn't seem to care, taking his own pleasure with every thrust. I dug my fingers deep into the floor, holding in screams as he did. For Bendu, I would have screamed endlessly for someone to stop him. For Dyre, I would do the same, if only my rescuers never found out he was my brother.

 

(GENERAL)

Greir, so recently still human, was still on a human schedule. She had a human routine. Not so much human but a living routine. One that had stuck when she'd awoken a vampire. As was usual for her, when she was alive, she ran her fingers through her hair with a dagger, evening it out. She preferred it short. She remembered Syra's long hair, smirking at the ridiculous length. So much easier to hold. As always, she finished just as the sun reached the halfway part of her room. Didn't matter, she moved easily in the sun, pacing as she waited for Bendu.  
And kept waiting. The Thalmor had been late before, true, but as she waited, longer still, dread bloomed in her heart.  
"Atrith!" she roared. "Find me Bendu!"

 

Brynjolf glanced between the bars of the gate, watching the Thalmor guards troop away. When they were out of sight, he vaulted over the gate, landing as lightly as possible. He covered his tracks, quickly, quietly, and kept moving. He'd quizzed Etienne before Mercer could have him thrown out, learning that the Thalmor kept their prisoners in a separate building. The door to that building was locked. He was on edge. It was too easy so far and he was a good thief but certainly not the best. He did make quick work of the lock, the ease of which leading the furtherment of his discomfort. He didn't linger on it too long, ducking into the building. His blood ran cold at the sound of two voices, speaking from a room hidden to his eyes from where he stood. He sent up a prayer of sorts that his luck would remain as it was and then he surged into the room like a force of nature. He surprised the Thalmor there, knocking the first out easily. The second was aware and put up a fight, his sword cutting at Brynjolf's arm, the pain sharp but fleeting. It wasn't a deep cut but blood welled up. Brynjolf knocked the sword aside, grunting, before driving his fist right into the guard's face. The Thalmor were a force to be reckoned with when it came to magic but physical violence, well, Brynjolf cracked his knuckles as he stepped over the second one, grabbing the keys off the desk he saw. His next stop was a lone door that caught his eye. When opened, it was nice not to waste his lockpicks, he stepped in, looking down at the prison before him. He saw devices of torture that made him flinch, stained with blood as they were. He wasted no time with the stairs, leaping from the small platform he was on. His fall and landing were quiet and graceful. Before he stood, the smell hit him. The reek of a fresh kill that was turning into a rotting corpse. He could practically hear the blood leave him. Please don't let him be to late. Begging and pleading, he hurried forward, ever the silent thief, creeping past the cells to gaze at the body on the floor. The eyes had been gouged out and the tongue lay on the floor beside the Thalmor Wizard. Not Syra. Brynjolf had known the lass was strong and she was of the Dark Brotherhood breed so this level of violence he wouldn't put past her. But had she really done this. And where was she? He retraced his steps, peeking into the cells until he found her. Her cell was unlocked and he opened the door, approaching slowly. Was she really asleep?  
"Lass."  
Even if she was asleep, it was never a good idea to surprise an assassin. Or a female in general. Brynjolf recalled the weeks Delvin had spent, unable to take a job due to a broken arm he'd received after surprising Vex. Gently, Brynjolf rested a hand on her bare shoulder, the only thing she hadn't been able to burrow into the bed of straw she'd made. Her eyes shot open and she looked at him, her blue eyes unusually dim. Brynjolf could see a dark horror lurking in her eyes that he couldn't remember holding much emotion at all.  
"Lass," he said again.  
He stopped, unable to continue. Saying he'd come to save her sounded like a lie. Now he could see the bruising on her shoulder and he had a feeling that wasn't the only bruise she had. He lowered his hand, gently grasping her upper arm and pulling her from the straw. She managed a whimper ,at best, but didn't fight him. Brynjolf saw why. Her clothes, rags to begin with, were torn. She must have been freezing. Brynjolf released her and she burrowed back into the straw as he rose. He had seen them, briefly and fleetingly, when he'd entered and had saved the information as a meaningless tidbit. Stacked in the corner of the torture cell were ragged robes carelessly thrown their, some stained with blood. He found the cleanest of them and brought them back to Syra.  
"Lass, get dressed," he instructed.  
If he had to help her, what other horrors would he find decorating her body? Syra didn't respond, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the wall. Brynjolf fell to his knees beside her.  
"Lass, please don't make me do this."  
His pleas fell on deaf ears and Brynjolf steeled himself as he reached into the hay pile, pulling her up enough to pull the shirt over her head. He'd undressed plenty of women. Dressing one was a first for him and he tried to do it with as much care as possible. For her part, Syra didn't react much, not even when he picked her up, finally dressed, and started carrying her from the cell. Her eyes were still glazed over and Brynjolf was glad of it, especially as they passed the dead Thalmor. There was some blood under her nails. Despite all his misgivings, now that he had her, he was less worried about being caught. The idea hadn't crossed his mind as something that could happen. Until it did. It came as soon as he stepped from the stifling prison, emerging into the snow that he ran across a Nord. Which was strange in itself. Red eyes gazed back at him. Unnaturally red, especially with a Nord. Brynjolf's eyes widened.  
"Vampire," he breathed.  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
The vampire's fangs flashed when he spoke and he took a menacing step forward. Brynjolf readjusted his grip on Syra, drawing one of Lilith's daggers. Now he understood why she'd enchanted it with fire. As the blade glowed, the vampire backed off a step, glaring.  
"Syra," he said.  
His voice was low and intimate, full of longing as if he cared not for the escape attempt simply because it was Brynjolf she was leaving with. Something in that voice set Brynjolf on edge. He needed to start moving. Now. Slowly, crouched to defend himself, he headed back towards the way he'd come in, praying the vampire didn't follow though there was no chance of that. Those red eyes followed him, their owner's body tensed and ready to spring. He needed something to distract him when the time came. Just when he thought the Divine were against him, a female voice echoed from the Embassy.  
"Dyre!"  
Female it was. Human it was not. It was an animalistic roar of anger and Brynjolf was flooded with dread when another vampire, a blonde with short hair stormed out to join the stand off. But her eyes were for the male vampire rather than Brynjolf and his stolen prize.  
"What is it?" demanded the first vampire, eyes never leaving Syra.  
"You killed Bendu!" snarled the female.  
Bendu? An Altmer name. Was it the body in the cell, eyes gouged out and tongue ripped out? A wave of relief flooded his body. Somehow, knowing Syra hadn't done...THAT gave him a great sense of relief. The two vampires. Now that stole the relief away.  
"He deemed himself worthy enough to touch what wasn't his."  
A dark smile flickered across that horrible face.  
"The men in Skyrim do tend to do that a lot."  
Now his gaze zoned in on Brynjolf, the intensity drawing the gaze of the female vampire as well. Her eyes narrowed further.  
"Guards!" she barked, more annoyed than ever.  
Brynjolf swore inwardly as the guards gathered at her command, not even stopping to catalog the situation. They headed for him instantly, weapons half drawn. It was then Syra decided to return. Eyes still glazed, she turned her head, still resting in the crook of Brynjolf's arm, looking at the approaching force.  
"Back," she said, a booming undertone in her voice.  
Something distorted the air, Brynjolf could feel a sort of backlash that almost staggered him, and the guards were thrown like rag dolls, weapons scattering. Syra broke from his grip, her weakened legs able to hold her up somehow. He could see a faint glow surrounding her, her hair lifting slightly as she walked, no, she wasn't just walking. She was almost floating. Reaching down, she picked up a discarded bow and a single arrow. She readied it, pointing it at the female.  
"Did I not warn you?" she asked, that same undertone giving her the voice of some Divine or Daedric creature.  
Brynjolf almost whistled. He was definitely attracted to power. The female vampire smiled.  
"Azura," she chuckled. "Oh I should have known. I'm not surprised you'd lie and claim that she would kill me. When it is you."  
"It is through her, that I end you."  
"Never can trust either the Divine or Daedra," hissed the vampiress.  
"Most of us tend to despise the undead," was Syra's, Azura's?, retort.  
She let that arrow fly, let it sink into the vampiress's unguarded, unarmed chest, right where her heart would be if vampires had such things anymore. A hiss of pain was all that vampiress let out before she fell to her knees. Her eyes rolled back into her head before she fell to the ground. Next was the male vampire. He was watching her, bored, not at all terrified, as if he didn't believe that he was apparently facing down Azura. The Thalmor guard was starting to rally itself but the two just stared at each other before Syra turned back to Brynjolf, floating past him to the intended portion of gate he'd staked out. Brynjolf cast a glance in the vampire's direction, wary, but followed her.  
"Seems you're doing better, lass," Brynjolf remarked, as they climbed over the gate.  
What else could he say? It was a miracle she was on her feet let alone that she was scaling gates. She leapt from the gate, landing on her feet before she turned to him, eyes still slightly glazed over, as if she wasn't completely there. He could almost believe he was talking to another being entirely. But that made no sense. Syra's hand reached out, brushing his cheek, smooth against the stubble there.  
"We expect great things from you, Brynjolf," she intoned.  
He was about to ask her to elaborate but those eyes cleared and Syra's usual blue eyes rolled back into her head as she collapsed. Brynjolf was fast, catching her before she hit the snow and lifting her once more, hands no longer occupied by Lilith's enchanted dagger. He'd only taken a few steps when Syra's eyes opened again and she looked at him, weakly.  
"You," she began.  
Brynjolf smiled her way.  
"Calm down, lass," he urged. "The hard part's over."  
He hoped. Syra blinked slowly, sleepily even. He expected her to argue, to fight, to insist her put her down and let her walk. Instead, she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes again. Brynjolf heard her sigh as well, the sigh sounding like one of contentment. He'd never swear to it but he was pretty sure. And it made the rescue worth it.


	14. Daedra Don't Sleep

"In the great green tomb, there was a chaurus."  
I was haunted. It was a fact I was coming to terms with, slowly, and I'd only imagined the ghost to be my mother. But this deep voice, the one singing to me in my head, this was my father.  
"And a draugr that had been dead since Sundas."  
It took me back, back to my days as a small child, one who still had innocence, who hadn't killed yet. Whose brother hadn't both violated and abandoned her.  
"And a picture of..."  
My father trailed off, waiting. I could see him kneeling beside my bed, body wrapped in the garb of an assassin about to head out on a job.  
"A guar jumping over the Mundus!" I, only six in this memory, sang before falling into a fit of giggles.  
My father grinned, kissing my forehead, his beard tickling me.  
"Hush, you'll wake Dyre."  
My mother strode in, dressed for work as well. She was adjusting her gloves. Dyre slept in a separate room and our parents alternated putting us to bed. And whoever had Dyre usually had a much harder job. I remembered being proud that I didn't need to be coddled by my parents. Didn't take as long to be put to bed. My mother's red eyes zoned in on my father, her message clear. She was ready to go. My father smiled her way before turning back to me.  
"Alright," he prompted, kissing my forehead again. "We're going to have to speed this up."  
I nodded, a bit disappointed as he made me lay down, smoothing my blanket over me.  
"Goodnight Mundus,Goodnight chaurus,Goodnight guar jumping over the Mundus," he sang as he did.  
Probably feeling bad, my mother's soft voice joined his and she came to the other side of my bed, smoothing my hair with her glove.  
"Goodnight draugr that had been dead since Sundas,Goodnight frost troll, Goodnight sweet roll," she sang with him.  
My father's voice faded away and he simply stared at my mother, his blue eyes reflecting the love he had for her even to this day.  
"Goodnight Orcish oaf with a horker loaf," my mother continued, meeting his gaze and grinning.  
She wasn't old but she was old enough. Young men still found her tempting, a woman with experience and the charm of an older woman. And my father was the lucky one to have claimed her. My mother's voice dropped away and they just stared at each other, a couple so madly in love with each other that the poor, six year old me was getting sick watching them make weird faces at each other.  
"Goodnight atronach,Goodnight wabbajack,And Goodnight to the Moth priest whispering, "magicka"!" I blurted, stumbling over some words, my face in a pout as I glared at the two of them.  
They both laughed at that.  
"Goodnight ogrim, Dremora, clannfear," my father sang, just to please me.  
"Goodnight Daedra everywhere," my mother finished.  
She merely forgot one thing. Daedra don't sleep.

 

He was harassing me again, bombarding me with my past, my happiness, my childhood. I looked up at Molag Bal, his image before me, so much bigger than I.  
"Enough," I hissed. "Haven't you done enough?"  
He chuckled, his mere presence surrounding me like a cloud. Emotions I hadn't remembered, hadn't needed when I'd been trapped in Coldharbour, rose to the surface. Frustration and deep anger burned me inside, making me realize that this freedom he'd given me was truly an illusion. It was merely another way for him to torture me. To watch my emotions, emotions his realm and him had taken from me. Only to bombard me with them now. I had been thrust into Skyrim an emotionless shell, an empty void and because I was emotionless, I'd lost my memories, the ones that would make me feel anything that he didn't want me to feel. Which was everything. The full force of what he'd taken from me hit me and I screamed at him, at the towering, laughing beast. I did not scream words. No. I sent the full force of my emotions his way, wishing I could beat him into the ground.  
"I hate you!" I screamed. "I hate you! I'll kill you!"  
The tears I felt slipping down my cheeks burned like fire. And he merely laughed, his horrible voice echoing through my ears.  
"There is your fire," he laughed.  
He lowered himself so that he was right there, his horrible eyes reflecting me, the weak image of me that looked like she'd been to Mehrunes Dagon's plane and back.  
"And now its time for you to go back."  
The downside to my emotions. I recalled every horrible second in Coldharbour, fear constricting my heart.  
"No."  
Fear refused to let me go, choking my voice with its constrictive grip. Molag Bal threw his head back, laughing.  
"You did not think I'd leave you here forever? To grow old and die doing as you please? You had grown too use to my realm, too cold. And so in another 200 years, I will release you again. And this game will go on."  
He reached for me, so sure that I'd let him drag me back.  
"No."  
This time, the word was louder, stronger, my fear still there but helping me now, as if it would rather return to its pit and stay there. My body wouldn't move, as if frozen but it didn't matter. I wasn't going back. A power unlike any other filled me and like that, a presence appeared at my side. I stared at the second Daedric Prince, at Nocturnal as her billowing darkness surrounded me, as if she had come to protect me.  
"Nocturnal," Molag Bal hissed, as if her mere presence was a knife to his eye.  
"Once more you overstep your bounds," Nocturnal scolded, her face impassive.  
"What bounds?' Molag Bal snarled.  
Finally, a smile, or an attempt at one cracked her uncaring facade.  
"Why, this is my new champion," Nocturnal declared.  
Her darkness still surrounded me, one of her night birds landing on my shoulder. She was claiming me as one of her own.  
"She is mine," Molag Bal hissed, rising so that he towered over Nocturnal and I.  
Her smile was gone and she was blank again as she looked upwards at him.  
"Would you dare challenge me?" she demanded to know. "Have you not already known the bitter taste of defeat, you arrogant worm?"  
At the mention of its dinner, her bird cawed, flapping its wings a bit.  
"And do you think you could win with my champion at my side?"  
The mention of me brought Molag Bal's temper tantrum to a halt and he glowered at her.  
"You have lost, my brother," Nocturnal said. "Now release her."  
He opened his mouth and let out a roar that sent Nocturnal's birds flying away. I closed my eyes against it, letting Nocturnal's dancing shadows swallow me into their darkness.

 

I screamed as I came awake, sitting up fast. The girl sitting beside me didn't even react. She just kept stirring the bowl of soup she held before lifting the spoon.  
"Hungry?" she asked.  
I stopped screaming, choosing to squint at her instead.  
"Who are you?" I demanded.  
My memory was a bit foggy past my encounter with Nocturnal and Molag Bal. The girl didn't respond. Instead, a chilling but familiar cackle drew my attention.  
"Hello, Listener!" laughed Cicero.  
He and Brynjolf stood by the door, lowering their weapons onto a small table. Brynjolf smiled at me, approaching. The girl, an obvious Breton, rose, handing him the bowl.  
"You guys find anything?"  
She probably meant the question for Brynjolf because Cicero had begun singing to himself.  
"Just a few rabbits which a certain someone scared off with his singing," Brynjolf mumbled, grumpy it seemed, taking the now empty seat next to me.  
"We'll be fine until midday tomorrow," the Breton said.  
She had her hand on the door.  
"We'll head back out," she informed Brynjolf.  
Cicero danced out after her, the door closing firmly behind them. Not before snow flurried just inside the door and I shivered against the cold. Brynjolf held out the bowl.  
"Here you go," he offered.  
"What happened?" I demanded to know.  
"What do you mean?"  
Brynjolf was just playing dumb now. I was too tired to fix him with much of a look but I managed one. He sighed.  
"Lass, when I found you, you were burrowed in straw and barely awake," he said.  
He set the food down, probably suspecting that I wasn't going to be eating it anytime soon.  
"That's all I know," he swore.  
I rubbed my head, feeling a headache coming on.  
'Who's there?' I mentally demanded. 'Who's in my head?'  
A low chuckle echoed in my head, the sound overwhelming me.  
'Have you finally come to terms with what you are?' asked the voice.  
Nocturnal. She was back. No, something told me she had never left.  
'What are you doing here?' I demanded.  
'There are but a handful who know what was done to you while you were held captive. You are no longer one,' she explained. 'I have taken those memories and will only return them once you have completed the task I give you.'  
I grimaced, uncomfortably. Did I really want to know? Did I have to know? I decided that I did.  
'I can't kill anyone,' I said.  
The realization that that was true was terrifying, as if my conscience had intensified. Even now, even struggling to steal back a glimpse of my memories of captivity, I was haunted by past kills, by each victims' face. And even as I conversed with Nocturnal, I felt tears sliding down my face.  
"Lass."  
Brynjolf rubbed my back and a weak part of me wanted to surrender to the sheer feel of someone, anyone, comforting me. But I'd never needed comforting before. What was wrong with me?  
'Return him to me,' Nocturnal instructed. 'And get rid of the traitor within my midst.'  
Her voice was commanding, unsympathetic.  
'You are in my debt. You will kill if I command it or you will face Molag Bal alone.'  
She had me there. And as horrible as I felt, the idea that I could end up back in Molag's plane was even worse.  
'I'll do it.'

 

I sat by the fire, wrapped in the fur that had covered me. Two days had passed and those two days I'd sat in this same spot, staring at the fire. When the Breton, named Rossara, wasn't shooing me away so that she could prod it back to life. We didn't talk much but she seemed comfortable enough with Cicero. And Brynjolf never left except to go hunting. He'd return soon enough and he'd spend all his time staring at me or conversing silently with Rossara. They thought I didn't notice, they thought Cicero enough to distract me. They were wrong. At this particular time, Cicero and Brynjolf were out hunting again. Rossara was just outside, no doubt practicing her archery. I could hear the Thunk! of arrows as they hit the side of the cabin. I knew I couldn't leave. I could still feel how broken I was, outside and inside, even though Nocturnal had stolen away my memories. I drew in a deep breath, lowering myself to my back on the floor. My fingers released the fur, letting the chill not banished by the fire seep into my skin. The sound of my blood as it surged through my body filled my ears. Any other time, it would be enough. But something, no someone was blocking me. And she'd continue to do so until I did what she wanted.  
"Bitch," I mumbled, sitting up.  
I stood, legs a bit shaky but I'd deal. I threw the fur away. Enough was enough. I would not be a victim, would not be so weak as to hide. Extra armor rested atop a trunk at the end of the bed and I grabbed it, shedding the robes I wore in favor of it. Just that simple act, putting armor on instead of the impractical robes made the aches in my body ease just a bit. I tugged on the boots, stomping into them. As I finished that, Brynjolf stepped into the room, carrying two rabbits. He froze in his tracks, seeing me standing there in armor. I fixed him with a look, one that didn't give him an encouragement in any objections he could make.  
"We're leaving," I proclaimed.

 

I'd thought my body to be broken but I once I started going,it was easy to ignore the pain that had plagued me in my recovery. I ran through the snow, breath coming in visible gasps as I fought the cushiony blanket of white. I could hear the others behind me which was fine. I'd never been a distance runner nor a fast runner. I'd been an assassin. Running hadn't been necessary. Only silence. An arrow whizzed by my head and I didn't have to look back to know it was Rossara. It buried itself in a Frostbite spider, killing it. I leapt over its dead body and kept running.  
"Do you even know where you're going?" Brynjolf yelled.  
He'd tried everything to keep me in that cabin and he'd tried everything to get me to go back. Clearly he wasn't giving up. I stopped. I did hate to admit that I didn't know where I was going. It just felt so good to be in motion. Brynjolf caught up, catching my wrist, probably trying to keep me from bolting again before he caught his breath. Watching his chest heave, I realized my own was doing the same. I shouldn't have run so much. Brynjolf sighed, sensing my exhaustion. He flopped onto the snow, dragging me down with him and settling me on his lap.  
"What-" I began.  
"I'm a Nord,lass. I'm built against the cold."  
"I'm half Nord," I argued, wasting precious breath.  
"Is the Listener well?"  
Cicero joined us, dancing merrily.  
"Cicero, I'm not the Listener anymore," I corrected him.  
And to be honest, I wasn't sure I wanted to be.  
"But the Listener-" Cicero began.  
"Cicero," I corrected. "This is the biggest secret the Dark Brotherhood can keep but anyone with an ounce of skill in Necromancy can be the Listener."  
Cicero looked shocked and I knew how he felt. My mother had ruined that illusion for me ages ago. Practically literally.  
"Where I'm going, you shouldn't," I told Cicero, not admitting that I was going to do the bidding of a Daedric Prince.  
He'd almost killed Astrid over her disbelief of the Dark Mother. What would he do to me?  
"Go home, Cicero," I ordered.  
I rethought that.  
"All of you need to go home."  
Beneath me, I felt Brynjolf tense, his entire body going rigid. It reminded me of the fact that I was still in his lap, still coddled protectively against him, still relying on someone and I rose, fighting that urge.  
"Lass, I don't have a home."  
His words stopped me.  
"The Guild," I began.  
"Mercer gave me an ultimatum," Brynjolf went on.  
He rose to his feet, brushing snow from his pants.  
"Stay, leave you to rot in that cell, or save you and leave the Guild," he finished.  
He smiled.  
"I chose ."  
There was more he didn't say but I heard the unspoken words drilled home by Rossara's fierce gaze. Brynjolf hadn't just chosen. He'd chosen me. Above his Guild, his friends,family,associates. Above his home. He'd chosen me. I stared at him, letting the full weight of it sink in. Maybe there was more to this thief than I thought. No wonder Nocturnal wanted him back. I opened my mouth then closed it again, not sure what to say, not sure how to hold back the emotions I was still trying to keep locked in. I owed Nocturnal many thanks for the taking of my memories. It made it easier to control my emotion without having to worry about other times associated with those emotions. Brynjolf was smiling at me, sensing the clear internal dilemma.  
"Lass," he began.  
"Enough," I said, backing hurriedly away, out of his reach.  
If he touched me again, I wasn't sure I could keep myself from more tears.  
"I need to see Lilith," I decided on.  
I looked at Brynjolf head on.  
"Take me to Lilith."  
I knew Rossara and Cicero were listening but my reputation be damned.  
"Just you."


	15. Nithrogr

(GENERAL)

"Just you."  
Her words played over and over again in his head. Brynjolf stared at the bundled up halfling beside him, trying to, as she said, "keep that dumb smirk" of his face. He kicked himself a bit. She probably meant the exact opposite of what he was thinking. Or maybe what he was overthinking. And he did not want to think of that. Not about Syra. It wasn't that she wasn't attractive because of course she was. After a lifetime as an assassin, her body was toned and slender enough without being too thin, but whenever his thoughts drifted there, he remembered her in the straw and he would get tense and any stirrings would cease instantly. Syra's crunching footsteps ceased and Brynjolf looked up into her eyes, all he could see of her face which was obscured by her cowl. There was a softness there that almost had Brynjolf reaching for her. What stopped him was the memory of her tears as well as her dislike of weakness. If he touched her now, to her, it would be a type of punishment and she'd work harder to avoid revealing that side of herself ever again.  
"Whatever your thinking, stop," Syra advised him.  
Brynjolf smirked.  
"Just thinking it probably would've been a good idea to bring a horse,lass," he teased. "You look tired."  
Syra's gaze sharpened and she turned away, pressing forward. Brynfolf couldn't help himself, sneaking a peek at her butt.  
"I know what you're looking at and stop it!" Syra called back in a tone that said she was not only aware but embarressed.  
"Next time lass, you can take a peek at mine!" Brynjolf returned.  
He seriously doubted she would though.

 

"Arch-Mage!"  
Lilith turned to see Tolfdir approaching, two figures in tow, one of which was Brynjolf. She could only assume who the second was and she hoped she was right, approaching the second, tuning Tolfdir out as the second figure tugged down the bottom of their cowl revealing a red, snow bitten Syra who shivered, looking peevish.  
"I preferred Riften," she griped, backing up when Lilith tried to hug her.  
"Oh, Syra, come on!" Lilith objected. "The last time I saw you, you were risking life and limb to save me."  
Syra's blue eyes narrowed.  
"How do you know I wasn't saving myself?" Syra demanded.  
"Because the way you were, you didn't care if you lived or died," Lilith replied. "But you did care about me. And the fact that I was only there because of you."  
Syra said nothing as she turned away, her eyes landing on Farkas as he approached. Lilith smiled at her husband.  
"Look who came to see us!" she said, trying to tone down the cheer so as not to frighten Syra.  
"Bring her inside," Farkas urged. "She'll catch her death out here."  
"Very well," Lilith agreed.  
Farkas motioned to Brynjolf who nodded, following the werewolf while Lilith looped her arm through Syra's, having to slow her pace to accomadate Syra's slight waddle from all her layers.  
"I find it amusing that you of all people , the star assassin, can't handle a little cold," Lilith playfully said.  
She expected a reaction from Syra but received none. Curious, she glanced at the elf, surprised to see that she wasnt just red from the cold. A slight blush had settled along the bridge of Syra's nose. Following her gaze, Lilith blushed as well, realizing the halfling's gaze was focused on Brynjolf's butt. Lilith's eyes shot away from that fast, flying upwards.  
'Sweet Divines above,' Lilith said.  
She had to nip this in the bud.

 

(SYRA)

 

I hadn't believed that the room would be so warm but it was. As soon as Lilith closed the door, I stripped free of the constricting layors, letting them fall to the floor,relishing in the heat for just a second. Once I could feel my toes again, I turned to Lilith.  
"I need to talk to you," I said.  
"So talk," she urged.  
Despite the high ceilings, the circular room was too small and Lilith, I got the feeling she'd arranged my rescue. Plus, she'd basically declared that she'd have my back if I ever needed her. It wasn't fair to not give her this small token.  
"What I'm going to tell you, I need to keep between us," I went on.  
I was coming to trust Brynjolf and I understood Farkas well enough to not fear he'd let it slip. But I had to test Lilith first. Had to tame the bubbling fear in my gut. Lilith understood, taking my hand.  
"Farkas, darling, go show Brynjolf the library," she urged.  
Something in her tone left no room for arguement and even Brynjolf knew it, trudging after Farkas. My hand secured between hers, Lilith guided me to her bed and we settled onto it, face to face as the door closed behind them.  
"What is it?" Lilith asked.  
I stared into her eyes, lulled into a sense of comfort.  
"You know I am Dragonborn," I began, unable to find a better place.  
"Of course," Lilith said.  
She was waiting, her curosity raised now by the obvious struggle I was going through.  
"My mother explained to me that I was not your usual Dragonborn," I went on.  
I remembered my mother sitting me down, holding my hands as she explained the complications she'd had when it had come time for me to enter the world. My father had practically threatened the midwife to make her save my mother whatever the cost. Even if the cost had been me. And my mother had fought hard for both our survivals. I did not fault my father for my mother was his world.  
"For when a Dragonborn is born, they are born with a dragon's soul. "  
I looked at my hands, swearing I could feel my mother's touch, the way she'd gently rubbed my little hands, trying to soften a blow I hadn't fully understood.  
"I was not," I said. "Born with a dragon's soul. I was born with a human one that almost didn't survive. I was born too early. I was too weak. "  
I met Lilith's eyes. She was definently shocked. I smirked a bit.  
"I almost died. And then, my father, he saw my mother's desperation, her want, her need to have a daughter. Birth was always so hard on her. She'd lost a few between Dyre and I. She was praying that I'd make it and once she was safe, he began praying with her. But he didn't stop at Sithis or the Night Mother. My father prayed to the Divine and the Daedric and only one answered."  
"Who?" Lilith asked.  
A warm feeling filled me, one that had chased Molag Bal away when he'd taunted me with the headache in Whiterun so long ago. A warmth I now had a feeling who was behind it.  
"Akatosh."  
Lilith's eyes went wide with wonder, her mouth opening a bit.  
"There was much risk involved," I continued, trying hard to ignore the awe. "All he could offer was a dragon soul, a very special one, that was too weak to have manifested into an actual body. One he cared for very much. Nithhogr, the only female dragon."  
"But..."  
Lilith licked her lips as she sought words in the face of the information I had just given her.  
"There are no female dragons."  
I smiled at her words.  
"Because they...because she, she wasn't suppose to exist," I explained.  
I shrugged.  
"Who knows? I heard everything secondhand and even my mother didn't know it all."  
Lilith nodded, sitting back to puzzle this over. I didn't know how to tell her that I knew more so I merely went on.  
"Our souls were merely supposed to coincide but at some point we merged."  
Lilith seemed alert now that there was more.  
"By then, my body had grown use to hosting two souls, regardless of strength. As such, I can host the Daedric or Divine safely. I can channel their powers should I pull hard enough."  
I smiled again, this time dryly.  
"Given enough incentive, I was told I could even kill them."  
Now Lilith was fully gaping at me.  
"No wonder they seem so interested in you!" Lilith accused.  
"Its pure speculation!" I argued back, amazed that she'd chosen to focus on that rather than the entirety of the information I'd just given her.  
"Not to them!"  
"I didn't tell you this so you could argue with me!" I snapped.  
Lilith let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back.  
"Fine," she said.  
She was calming herself down. I could see that.  
"So why did you tell me all this?" she inquired.  
"Because I trust you," I admitted.  
It had cost me nothing to say these words, even as Lilth fought back her smile. She was really trying.  
"And because you're my friend," I went on. "And I need your help."  
Now Lilith looked distressed.  
"Syra," she began.  
"I know you've done enough," I said hurriedly. "But-"  
"Syra, the only reason Solitude's forces haven't stormed this place is thanks to Ulfric and his army," Lilith said. "I owe him."  
"What do you owe him?" I demanded, half rising.  
Nocturnal be damned. Her mission could wait. Whatever Ulfric wanted Lilith for, she could very well end up dead. What was one dead Altmer in the grand scheme of things?  
"I leave for Windhelm tomorrow. And from there, I will go with his forces to conquer Whiterun."  
"You could die," I argued.  
"Its a high possibility," Lilith agreed.  
"What about the Companions? What about Farkas?"  
"I want Farkas to remain here," Lilith explained.  
"Like a wife waiting for her husband to return?" I demanded. "He is a fighter!"  
"I know!" Lilith snapped. "But when I'm on that field, I need to know that he is safe! Or else I won't be able to focus!"  
"You cannot go alone!" I insisted.  
Lilith rose fully.  
"I will not ask the college mages to follow me. They are not here for that! I am perfectly capable of handling myself."  
"Perhaps against these Nordic mages but you will be facing mages of your breed. Mages with soldiers backing them!"  
"Then what do you propose I go into battle with? Who can face them? You? Certainly not. I will not risk you so soon after I have you back, safe."  
"I'm safe?" I practically laughed. "At any moment, a disgruntled Daedric ass could zap me to some dull realm of Oblivion on a whim. On an assumption! I will never be safe!"  
"Then allow me to maintain the illusion," Lilith requested.  
"That I cannot do," I said to her.  
I rose fully, crossing my arms over my chest.  
"And why not?" Lilith asked, matching my posture.  
She seemed to already know the answer and faced it with an air of both dread and a little bit of happiness. Not so much happiness actually. More like excitment that she wasn't going alone.  
"Because I'm going with you."

 

(GENERAL)

 

Ulfric's attention was drawn from his men to the sound of a commotion behind him as a group of his men hurried out of the way just as a dark horse appeared,surging through his men without care. Just short of charging into him the horse was reigned in, rising up on two legs and kicking the air before it came down with a solid thud, turning so that its rider and her passenger faced him.  
"Good morning to you, Jarl Ulfric," Lilith greeted, smiling smugly.  
"Who is this?" Ulfric demanded of the unfamiliar rider who was bundled up and unrecognizable to him.  
The mark of the horse's flank was familiar but only due to word of mouth. Of legend. The Dark Brotherhood. Assassins. He'd already dealt with an assassin and had no urge to do so again any time soon. Lilith smirked.  
"Told you he wouldn't recognize you," she gloated.  
A frustrated growl worked its way from the layered rider and a gloved hand reached up, pulling the cowl down enough to reveal Syra. Her nose was horribly red for being spared the torture of direct contact.  
"You're alive," he whispered.  
He hadn't expected her to be. She had been taken by the Thalmor in their stronghold. Syra gave him a challenging smile.  
"Come now, Jarl. You did not think me so weak as to be slain by a few measly Imperial puppets, did you?"  
She tsked.  
"I feel insulted now. I have half a mind to take Lilith away again."  
The look Ulfric gave her clearly said "Don't you dare," for she smiled, guiding her mount out of his way but no further, waiting for him to address his men before he sent them off, some he knew, to die. He would not conceal that truth from them, nor would he conceal the fact that they were going against not just their brothers and sisters but the Mer who'd made them puppets. And that they were going into battle with one and a half of those Mer. He sensed the hostile energy pointed at Lilith and Syra, more so at Lilith who was both an Altmer and a full blooded one at that. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she looked empowered, sitting behind Syra on the dark horse. She looked ready to win him a war.

 

(SYRA)

"Are you ready?"  
I kept my voice low, speaking in a stage whisper to Lilith, one my father had taught me many a time on a two man job where one was too dense to understand hand signals. He'd prepared me for the most incompetent of partners.  
"No," Lilith admitted.  
She leaned closer, despite the dirty looks we received for talking through Ulfric's speech. He did have a way with words.  
"They're greatly outnumbered," Lilith whispered. "If my sources are correct."  
I sensed the hidden meaning in her words, looking over the crowd of men enraptured by their Jarl's words. Any other time, I could block these emotions, snuff out the guilt before it smothered me. But it was too much to handle at this point. I simply lifted my cowl, hiding the tear trails that had come unbidden by the death sure to come.  
'Akatosh guide us,' I mentally whispered, because who else could I pray too.  
I expected no response, didn't even consider the possibility that there would be one. But warmth filled me, heating my frozen toes as Shadowmere pawed at the snowy ground.  
'Fly true, my child.'


	16. Harmless

Their mumbles were getting on my nerves. But it had to be so much worse for Lilith who could probably hear every hateful word they spoke. On top of their whining about their aching feet or the weight of their armor. Or the fact that the two Mer, for being half elf was as bad as fully being one, were on horseback. To his credit, Shadowmere didn't complain or balk at Lilith's weight. He trudged on, most likely more miserable than the Nords. I rose a bit in the saddle, my back tight and sore from hours on horseback.  
"You don't have a sword," Lilith mumbled, her lips brushing my ear as I settled back into the saddle.  
"Don't need one."  
She was right. I had no sword. I didn't even have a weapon. And I didn't need one. I was a weapon all my own.

 

(GENERAL)

Lilith closed herself off from the thoughts around her. Most were venom filled, directed at her and Syra, at the coming battle, and at the Imperials. She was so removed from what was going on in everyone's mind that she was unable to decipher Syra's mysterious words. Surely she didn't expect to rush into battle without a weapon? She was strong but not strong enough to kill with her bare hands. Not against Imperial soldiers trained in the way of the sword. And the Thalmor. That made Lilith tense and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself. She fully didn't expect to come back from this battle, regardless of Syra's presence or not. The Thalmor would most definently center on the Arch-Mage, if only to eliminate the threat they saw as their equal and then they'd turn their attention on the Nords.  
"Skyrim belongs to the Nords!" roared one of the soldiers near her.  
Syra was tense now and, startled from her thoughts, Lilith finally heard it. She heard the low longing cry of a war horn, no doubt summoning the gathered forces inside Whiterun.  
"They spotted us," Lilith said.  
"What was your first clue," Syra asked.  
She urged Shadowmere forward, forcing the Nords in front of them to break rank. The horse picked up on Syra's impatience, tossing its head and leaping over the men still trying to scramble out of his way. Syra wrapped the reins around her hand, tugging sharply on them.  
"Shields!" Syra ordered.  
Her body seemed to hum with an almost magical energy and Lilith was briefly blinded by the force of it. Syra thrust her hand forward, the one without the reins around it. Lilith hadn't noticed the archers nor their array of arrows they'd slung at the approaching Stormcloaks. With the sweep of her arm, Syra repelled them. Good thing too for the Nords had ignored her order to raise their shields, charging forward for the Hold.  
"Fools," Syra mumbled.  
She tightened her hold on the reins.  
"Hold onto me," she ordered Lilith who tightened her grip on Syra's waist if it was possible.  
Syra rose a bit in the saddle, which made Lilith's grip awkward. Somehow she managed to hold on, even when she felt Syra begin to hum again, feeling a burst of energy zip through her own veins. For a brief moment, it felt like her magic had increased exponentially, like no spell was out of her grasp. And with the sweep of Syra's arm, that feeling vanished like it had all been sucked out of her. Lilith found herself missing the feel.  
"Well well," Syra murmured.  
Lilith looked at the halfling, noting the faint glow to her skin. She was grinning just a bit, urging Shadowmere faster towards the gates of Whiterun. Guards rushed out to meet them, mixing with the Imperial force. Syra charged right in, her gaze focused soley on the gap between the erected barriers.  
"Syra," Lilith began.  
It was too small for the horse to fit through. And they were on horseback. Syra glanced over her shoulder at Lilith, her striking blue eyes even lighter, glowing golden as if something was lighting her from the inside out.  
"Trust me, Lilith."  
Lilith couldn't speak, not entirely sure how to react to the sensations she'd just felt and the amount of power Syra was using. Recalling their earlier conversations, Lilith wondered if Syra was channeling the power of a Divine. Or maybe a Daedra. She had to be. Skirting around a cluster of Stormcloak soldiers, Syra leaned forward, unexpectedly, almost breaking Lilith's grip. Her free hand smoothed over Shadowmere's neck, soothingly. She whispered in his ear, lowly, and then removed her hand. With the snap of her fingers, a small cyclone of wind appeared. Lilith's eyes widened. Lowering herself a bit, Syra's fingertips brushed the dirt path beneath them and she released the cyclone. With her other hand, she yanked the reins. The gesture made Shadowmere rear up. With a little angling with her legs and hips, Syra was able to bring him down so that they faced away from the barriers, urging the unsettled horse away as the cyclone went to work. That was what tipped Lilith off. Syra herself had admitted to her lack of magical knowledge. She was leeching power from a higher being. Surely there would be consequences.  
"Syra, whoever's power you're borrowing, you need to cut the connection," Lilith urged as Syra guided her horse away from a new cloud of arrows.  
"I'll cut it when we do something about those damn archers," Syra snapped.  
She unwrapped the reins from her hand, the sharp leather having left deep tracks in the calloused flesh of her hands.  
"So, grab a bow," Lilith instructed.  
"Sadly my skills with a bow aren't up to par with my knife skills," Syra admitted.  
"I would say I was disappointed but it goes without saying."  
"Seriously?"  
Syra turned a bit in her saddle, practically face to face with Lilith.  
"We're in the middle of a war and you're making jokes?"  
Lilith opened her mouth to speak but an arrow whizzed between them, drawing Syra's attention away.  
"Hold on again!" Syra ordered, forcing Shadowmere into a run.  
The horse adjusted quickly, charging for the shadows.  
"What are you doing?" Lilith demanded, realizing they were heading towards the archer's range rather than out of it.  
"You've never wondered why he's called Shadowmere?"

 

(SYRA)

 

Lilith didn't have time to respond. Okay, I didn't give her time to respond as I urged Shadowmere into the shadows. It had been a long time since I'd passed through the very heart of Sithis, where Shadowmere may or may not have originated. It was all a very shaky theory. As always, I kept our stay short even though I sincerely believed Shadowmere wished to stay longer.  
"What was that?" Lilith gasped as soon as we left the dark shadows behind.  
"You really didn't think Shadowmere could do that?"  
"No, I assumed he was just a horse," Lilith admitted.  
I smirked.  
"There are stranger things," I said as one of the archers came into view.  
He turned, bow rising, clearly surprised to see anyone on the rafter.  
"Take the reins," I ordered of Lilith throwing them at her.  
I leapt at the archer before he could notch an arrow, tackling him. We rolled to the floor, his arrows scattering across the ground. He scurried to retrieve them but I was upon him to fast, tapping into the raging power of whatever Divine I was siphoning power from and sending a fraction of it into him. To a mage, this would merely supercharge them. But to someone with little to no magical related talents, this would be a lethal shock. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Triumphant, I grabbed the dagger he carried at his waist, probably to be used as a last resort, and grabbed Shadowmere's saddle as he charged by, ignoring whatever commands Lilith was trying to convey by pulling on his reins. I gave him an encouraging pat as he continued down the ramparts, finally finding the gist of Whiterun's force of archers. This would be a lot tougher than one. I threw the dagger at the further one, choosing to tackle the closest. This one had no other weapon and I swore to myself as I conjured up yet another cyclone. I was playing with fire, hoping that whatever higher being wouldn't notice that their power was being borrowed. The archers cried out as they were whisked away. Shadowmere continued in the wake of the cyclone and I took that moment to look from the archers' post, watching the Stormcloaks meet the Imperial forces with brute force. From my perch I could see they were outnumbered. We needed something big or we didn't have a chance.

 

(GENERAL)

 

Lilith yanked the reins of the damn horse again to circle back for Syra but he kept charging. Irritated, Lilith wrapped the reins around the saddle horn before she gritted her teeth and slid off the horse. She landed on her feet, fighting for balance, her gaze falling on Syra who was perched at the edge of the very ramparts her horse was madly charging down, leaning against one bent knee. The halfling was watching the battle below, no doubting realizing that this was a battle they couldn't win.Her hands were curling and uncurling. Finally, she pushed herself off, standing to her full height.  
"Syra, what are you doing?" Lilith demanded, just a bit panicked.  
"You'll see," was Syra's reply.  
She cracked her neck, taking a deep breath.  
"Syra!" Lilith objected.  
She ran towards her but was too late. With a running leap, Syra leapt from the ramparts.

 

(SYRA)

 

I had always been aware there was more to me. That I wasn't alone. And it hadn't been until my mother had sat me down that I could finally put a name to the presence I felt inside me. Nithhogr. She as it. My other half and definently the better half. Falling towards the battlefield now, I reached deep down within me for the part of me I had left dormant since I'd been released from Coldharbour.  
'Awaken,' I whispered internally to that part of me that wasn't as mortal as many liked to think.  
And awaken it did. In my mind I could see powerful wings unfurl, snapping to attention as the rest of the scaled body rose from the pit it had sentenced itself too.  
'I need your help,' I said. 'Nithhogr.'

 

(GENERAL)

 

Lilith stumbled back as the dragon swooped past her, just barely brushing against the hard stone of the ramparts. Her eyes were wide as it arched perfectly in the air before divebombing the fighting armies. Lilith held her breath watching the crackling flames as they ripped through the Imperials force. Those the fire missed cried out, clearly torn between running or fighting against the Stormcloaks who looked equally alarmed. Lilith was torn as well, staring at the dragon, watching the light reflect of its glistening burnt red scales. Its reptilian gaze locked on Lilith and she tensed, raising a spell as it flew towards her, its feet curling around the stone ramparts and settling, albeit not comfortably. Lilith was tense all over as that powerful head lowered to her level.  
"What is it, Lilith?" it growled, its voice a growl and a purr. "You do not recognize me."  
The spell sputtered out as Lilith stared at the dragon before her. The female dragon before her!  
"By the Nine," Lilith whispered.  
Excitement shot through her, she couldn't help it. She was practically staring at a legend.  
"Syra!"  
Those red wings fluffed to life, equal excitement in those gold reptilian eyes.  
"Told you I didn't need a sword," she gloated.  
Lilith opened her mouth to speak but found she was unable to. The presence of the dragon as well as the abrupt cease fire from their archers had brought more Imperials. And with them came two Thalmor mages. Their gazes locked on Lilith immediantly who recast her spell.  
"The Arch-Mage!" cried one of the Imperials.  
He raised his sword, leading his brothers in arms in a fruitless charge towards Lilith. She chose to ignore them, sending her spell directly at the mages. One shielded while the other sent his own spell her way, the Fire Ball a lot more dangerous than any Nordic mage Lilith had every faced. She warded it off, barely dodging one of the Imperials that had gotten close. Syra was instantly there, her strong jaws closing on two simultaneously. With them, she took to the air with great speed, the two Imperials falling as she twisted midair, dive bombing again. This time, rather than fire, she blew freezing ice. Lilith threw up her strongest ward, the chill still seeping in. Through the frost, Lilith saw Syra snatch one of Thalmor, shaking him savagely before sending him flying. The other sent spikes of ice at Syra, the flying projectiles shattering as they hit the thick dragon scales. Syra looked bored as she lowered her head to stare him down and Lilith would be lying if she wasn't amused by the fear on his face. And she'd be lying if she didn't admit to be a tad bit horrified by the blast of fire Syra sent to scorch the mage. Syra didn't seem phased, rising into the air, hovering just over Lilith.  
"Move," she commanded. "We have more work to do."

 

Something stirred within him, the first thing he'd let himself think about between finding the Dovahkiin and resurrecting his brethren. The great scaled head rose, tasting the bitter cold that was Skyrim's air. At the familiar yet impossible taste on the wind, he rose fully, the snow that had settled on his back falling off in clumps. He took to the air, eager to reach his destination. He did not need to go far for he came upon the walled city called Whiterun by the mortals that cowered within its walls as well as those that wished to find room to cower there. He took great pleasure that the dovah were the ones driving them there. And as he glimpsed the red dragon circling the warring mortals, he felt a rush of pride that Odahviing had taken to his cause. Until he realized that the circling dragon was not his second in command. Those red wings tore at the sky as she, SHE, swooped down on the mortals. As she rose into the sky again, wings unfurling now that she was clear of the mortals' piercing weapons, he, with his wings carry him faster than usual, charged her. She never saw it coming, so focused she was on the mortals. Catching hold of one of her wings, he sank his teeth in the soft piece of flesh that was every dragon's weakness. Right under the wing. She roared, turning reptilian eyes on him as she blew flames his way. He closed his eyes against the heat as he sank his fangs in deeper. The flames gave way to ice as they dragonness switched tactics. He, Alduin, almost admired her tenacious desire to live. But the dovah were about dominance and she had no place if she was too weak to hold her own. He'd finally bitten past the tough skin, his teeth easily piercing the softer second skin, the first taste of blood filling his mouth. It was perfection, ruined by the sharp sting of lightning. Such mortal magic would never have bothered him but it carried a power like no other and he allowed the female freedom,releasing her so that she plummetted towards the ground without the use of her wing, while he turned his gaze on the mortal standing on the stone platforming below. Her fingers danced with lightning, her eyes flashing.  
"Alduin!" she roared.  
Ah, so she knew who he was? And she still chose to face him? He found himself just a tad bit impressed even though her resolve seemed to weaken the closer he got to her. Curling his lips back, he revealed his bloody teeth, wanting her fear to flare up more so that it would flavor her body as he devoured her. Perhaps it would follow her in death and he could taste it again when he devoured her soul at a later time. He drew his neck back, preparing to snap when it hit him. The very wind he rode, the ones that carried him with the willingness of a worshipper turned against him, slamming into him with savagery he'd never felt. As it flung him aside, his eyes fell upon a mortal, surrounded by the wind, blood pouring down her left arm. Her eyes glowed white as she manipulated the wind around him and he thought of nothing more until he was slammed into the ground. Never had he felt such humiliation. With a mighty roar, he rose again, roaring again as he took to the air. The mortal watched his approach, lifting her one good arm. The wind rose up again and his teeth snapped close on nothingness as the mortal rose higher into the sky. Alduin adjusted his wings, ascending with her. It became a race of sorts as he attempted to catch her. And everytime he drew close enough, he would find himself sabotaged by the very wind he'd seen as his ally for generations. Finally, his prey finished running, facing him, a fact he found frustrating. He'd have preferred forcing her hand in such a way that it became obvious that he was at a greater advantage.  
"Foolish child of Akatosh," the mortal intoned, voice carrying the weight of a being older than Alduin himself.  
He felt no fear though, for none could truly kill him.  
"It is true. I cannot cause your death," continued the mortal, acknowledging his unvoice thoughts.  
A small smile appeared on that acrused face, enraging the dragon.  
"But I can do this."  
Alduin let out a Shout, meant to send the mortal across the sky, perhaps to unbalance her enough for him to tear the life from her but some force, stronger than he, protected her, sending his attack back at him as well as wrapping its own power around him. He roared his objection before he was torn away.

 

(SYRA)

 

I'd been overwhelmed as soon as I'd been forced from Nithhogr's form. I'd forgotten how freeing her form could be. I checked my arm, finding it perfectly intact, no trace that another dragon had tried to kill me. Had I imagined it?  
"I assure you, it was all real."  
I tensed, my eyes piercing the bright light to stare at the dark skinned being before me. She was clothed in violet robes, her black hair fluttering around her. Her smile was easy and I felt almost compelled to feel at ease around her.  
"Who are you?" I demanded to know, not willing to be swayed but her magic.  
One of her dark eyebrows rose.  
"Oh? You do not know? And yet, you so willingly sought my powers."  
I tried not to react, tried not to reveal my surprise. The Divine did not seem to care one way or the other.  
"I am Kynareth," she introduced herself.  
Her smile was still so easy.  
"Don't you care?" I demanded. "I practically stole your powers from you!"  
Why was I trying to anger her?  
"I saw your intentions," she explained. "I also know who you are. What you are."  
All the more reason that she would want to kill me. It was only part of why Molag Bal tormented me.  
"You are destined for great things, daughter of Akatosh," said Kynareth. "Continue on your path. You have nothing to fear from me."  
With those words, she vanished. And a weight lifted off my chest. Her words had eased me. I truly believed she meant me no harm.

 

When I woke up again, this time for real, I had to take a few minutes to adjust to my surroundings. Sitting up, I realized I was in a tent. Beside me were groaning soldiers, some with wounds that they'd never recover from. Rising, slowly, for I had a headache, I walked out of the tent. The camp outside was bustling with activity, activity that came to a halt as soon as I appeared. I chose not to let it irk me too much, heading for the first soldier I saw, catching his arm as he tried to hurry away once he knew I had spotted him.  
"Where's Lilith?" I demanded.  
"The Arch-Mage is in there."  
He nodded at a tent a few feet away, clearly eager to be free of me. I let him go, spinning on my heel. That was a bad idea. My head swam and I stumbled a bit, dizzy. After a moment, I recovered, heading for the tent. I didn't know what to expect. A strategy meeting was actually pretty boring compared to the thoughts in my head. But all talk stopped once I entered, talk being a loosely used word as it appeared Lilith had been arguing with the officer in charge of this mission.  
"Syra," she breathed, taking steps away from him and towards me.  
"What's going on?" I asked.  
I let my gaze go to the officer, letting a bit of Nithhogr bleed into me. I knew it worked because he looked a bit more subdued. Lilith grasped my arm, my left, which was sore now that she'd done that. I started to fight her off but she held tight and it only hurt that much more.  
"Can you feel that?" she asked.  
"Of course I can," I snapped.  
She let out a breath of air.  
"I thought the damage would be much worse on your mortal body."  
'Damage? What damage?'  
Looking at my arm I discovered that my sleeve had been torn, the flesh beneath bandaged with what I knew to be Lilith's handiwork. Whatever it was suppose to be covering was out of my sight.  
"What-" I began.  
"The World-Eater bit you," reported a soldier that I hadn't noticed.  
My gaze flashed to him, surprised to see a face I actually recognized. He was from Helgen. Why did I remember that but not being attacked by the World-Eater? Okay, now I remembered it a bit but it was mostly overwhelmed by my recollection of Kynareth and her powers. She had said I had nothing to fear.  
"Are you well enough for battle?" asked the officer.  
Lilith shot him a dirty look. Clearly, this was what their argument had been about. I tested my arm, hissing at the pain that shot down it.  
"There's your answer," Lilith snapped.  
She released my arm.  
"She can stay here," Lilith went on. "All that's left is to clear out the stronghold. That seems easy enough."  
She was totally bluffing. No doubt, the remaining forces would be centered in the stronghold.  
"If you're going, I'm going," I insisted.  
The officer scoffed and I shot him a look that clearly said it would be my pleasure to castrate him. His eyes widened but he kept silent.  
"I'm right handed anyway," I went on.  
And not much good with a shield. I chose to exclude that part. Lilith looked like she wanted to strangle me but she must have seen the determination in my face. Or else she recalled that I could turn into a dragon.  
"Fine," she relented. "But no more magic."  
She fixed me with a look and I caught her meaning. No more leeching magic from the Divines. I offered her a smirk in return, one that made no commitments. Better not to make promises I couldn't keep.


	17. Talos

They wanted to wait until night fell. I didn't blame them. Not until the damn rain started. Between watching Lilith argue with the General and dealing with soaking hair, I chose the hair, positioning myself a bit away from the activity of the camp so that I had a view of the Hold. I could only imagine the fight waiting inside.  
"I need a sword."  
Whoever approached from behind paused, clearly surprised I had heard them. I might not have if I'd been any further in thought.  
"Then a sword you shall have, lass."  
I didn't move as Brynjolf settled next to me on the grass.  
"You shouldn't be here," I said.  
He said nothing in response, his eyes on the Hold. I cast a quick side glance his way, secretly glad that he was here. Despite Nocturnal's theft of my memories, I knew whatever had happened while I'd been held by the Thalmor would change everything. And not necessarily for the better. I wouldn't lie. I was a bit scared. I'd never felt so weak, not even after I'd been attacked helping Vex on her job. I was giving more and more of myself to this world without properly resting in between.  
"There are tunnels beneath the Hold."  
Brynjolf's voice cut through my thoughts, drawing my attention to him. He was centered on the Hold as he spoke.  
"Suppose to be used to evacuate the citizens should a war get too bad. Or at least that was what they were used for. A lot of time has passed since they were last used," he informed me. "And alot of people have forgotten about them."  
"But not you," I praised.  
Brynjolf smiled.  
"No,lass, I haven't. If you're serious about doing this, we're using the tunnels."  
"We're not doing anything," I declared. "You're going to return to Windhelm while Lilith and I handle this battle."  
He probably didn't hear a word I said, his eyes focused on my arm, on the bandages that Lilith had to readjust after I'd yanked them off to see the angry, puckered flesh around the bite marks. They were deep and rather serious. I was lucky to have use of the arm at all. Or feeling.  
"I didn't patch you up to watch you fall apart again," he said, something dark in both his tone and his eyes.  
He closed them against whatever horror was playing there, letting out a ragged breath. I could practically feel the pain and it made me uncomfortable. I knew it was a mistake to show him such weakness because now he felt free to show some back. I almost rose to leave, almost, and then a memory surged before me of only days ago when this man had held me in his arms, sitting in the biting cold of the snow to spare me from further exhaustion or the cold he faced. I could not offer him the same level of contact, for it was not in me, but I could offer him my presence, albeit a silent one. And he seemed to welcome it, his eyes opening and finding me sitting next to him brought another smile to his face. Whatever pain that held him melted away beneath his usual cocksure air.  
"Now then, lass, what kind of sword?"

 

The General did not take too kindly to the idea of a thief in his camp and Brynjolf seemed to love that fact, saying nothing as he leaned against the table, arms crossed. Good thing he was smart because Lilith was having a hard enough time convincing the General to take Brynjolf's tunnels. The thief's mouth was sure to lose it for us. I,meanwhile, chose not to stay on the sidelines.  
"It's the only reasonable strategy," I argued.  
"These tunnels have been abandoned. Who knows what kind of state they're in?" he demanded. "And who's to say they even exist?"  
"I believe him," I declared.  
"Little lady fancies the thief," whispered one of the guards.  
I turned to him, glowering with malice.  
"Once more and I'll wear your tongue as a belt," I hissed.  
Lilith rubbed her head with her hand.  
"General, please. Storming the Hold through the streets leaves us open to a sneak attack. They'll have control of the Cloud District. That's upper ground," Lilith reasoned.  
"And who's to say they haven't thought of those very tunnels?" demanded the General.  
I saw Brynjolf's lips part as he readied a quip that, no doubt, would have offered some amusement at the General's expense. But we were trying to win him over. In one smooth motion, I drove my elbow in the thief's side with just enough force to double him over, effectively cutting him off. Those gathered were clearly disturbed by the display but they said nothing.  
"I understand your hesitation sending your men in," Lilith went on, the first to really recover. "What if I go with them?"  
"Lilith," I said warningly.  
She shot me a look and a dull ache started above my eye. I forced myself to not flinch, glaring her way but staying silent. The General looked intrigued and I could tell Lilith had pushed into his mind to see what it would take.  
"Brynjolf and I will take a party of soldiers with us into the tunnels," Lilith went on.  
"I'm going too," I declared.  
"No."  
Lilith was firm, her tone one that discouraged further argument. She fully faced me.  
"You're arm is practically useless. And these tunnels are obviously a tight space. You're going to need your dragon form."  
She smirked a bit.  
"Besides, they've seen that we have a dragon on our side," she pointed out. "No doubt, if they intend to ambush us, they'll be sending their strongest to contend with you."  
She had to know her words would convince me but the ache above my eye did not go away. Paranoia briefly siezed me as I worried if it was Molag Bal or not. I forced it aside and shrugged despite the urge to scream and argue with Lilith.  
"Very well," I relented. "I'll just have to ravage the Hold in the time it'll take you to emerge."  
Brynjolf smirked.  
"That a challenge, lass?" he asked.  
I shrugged again, trying to hide the unease I felt with an atmosphere of smug. I hope I succeeded.

 

I tried not to let it bother me that Lilith and Brynjolf had left in the dead of night with their band of soldiers. I had at least thought they would leave at first light like the rest of us. But no, upon awakening, Lilith's bed roll was empty as was Brynjolf's when I'd rushed outside to check. But the thief had come through. He'd left behind a sword, one made of pure steel rather than the iron the Stormcloaks carried. I didn't want to know where he'd gotten it but I was grateful, settling it on my hip as I joined the line of soldiers that were left from the assualt the day prior. Many yawned, rubbing their eyes. Many, I suspected, that wouldn't be here today had I not been there. The Imperials had manpower to spare and those in Whiterun were only a fraction. The General was shouting some speech meant to stir up the fire in his men and I blocked him out, closing my eyes and searching for Kynareth. I could feel the faintest hint of her power. I must have severely drained her for the pull was weaker as if blocked by a stronger force. Perhaps one of the Thalmor mages? But how could any mortal hold that much power? No, there was another higher being here. The question was who? And should I tap into their power. I fought the urge to do so recklessly. I had no idea who I was dealing with and I had never needed their magic before. No, my sword skills would speak for themselves. I broke the connection to Kynareth's power, drawn back into the present in time as Shadowmere nuzzled my shoulder, nibbling at the cloth armor I wore. I offered my hand, stroking his muzzle gently.  
"Glad to see you found your way back to me old friend," I whispered.  
That touch was enough to tell me that Shadowmere had returned to Sithis's heart, however temporarily. And no doubt, the second passing of his gift to his children had captured the Dread Father's attention. Cold seeped into my body,numbing my nerves. He was here. Sithis was here, his presence suddenly hanging over me like a cloud. There would be plenty of death in the air.

 

(GENERAL)

 

"Not a friendly bunch, are they lass?" Brynjolf whispered to Lilith, raising his eyebrows covertly at the soldiers trudging behind them.  
Lilith ignored him, marching forward. Brynjolf was not deterred.  
"Lass," he said, pinching gently at her arm.  
She was lost to her thoughts, no doubt worrying about the same thing he was. The little assassin girl they'd left topside amongst an army of Mer hating Nords.  
"We're almost there," he whispered, when she glanced his way somewhat.  
Which he was glad of. They'd been in these dark tunnels for hours. Who knew what was going on above. Lilith paused, her eyes trailing upwards, taken aback by some unseen force.  
"They're in the Cloud District," she announced.  
"How do you know?" Byrnjolf asked.  
Lilith picked up her pace, practically running as the tunnels narrowed. Brynjolf could feel the floor beneath as it slanted upwards and he caught the faint whiff of fresh air. He was so ready to be out of the tunnels. And all of a sudden, they were, the opening a rusty latch in the ground. Not a strategic move had the army been focusing on them. No, Nord after Nord was too focused on the invading Stormcloaks which Brynjolf had yet to glimpse. But the Thalmor, they were a different story. Lilith threw up a ward, blocking a firebolt from one. Brynjolf threw a dagger at the second as he hurried into the Cloud District.  
"Not bad," Lilith praised as she dropped the ward and sent one of her own spells at the Thalmor.  
She seemed half preoccupied as her eyes scanned the chaos around them as the battle and both armies came into view. Brynjolf let himself scan once before the Thalmor recovered enough to remove the well thrown dagger from his side. If he'd been smart, he would have left it in. It would have staunched the blood flow. Brynjolf drew his sword, ready to square off against the wizard. As was Lilith who allowed her entire body to be engulfed in a warm orange light that lifted her into the air. She wasted no time, sending waves of fire at her opponent. Brynjolf followed in the wake of those flames, the hairs on his arm singed by the intensity and proximity. Still, it was worth it, catching the Thalmor offguard with a quick slice of his blade. Brynjolf gritted his teeth as he plunged the sword into the flesh of the Mer's body. It had been a long time since he'd killed someone and there was something almost intoxicating about the way the life bled from those eyes. He mentally shook himself, drawing his sword back. Instinct roared at him and he preformed a quick back flip, narrowly missing a practicularly sharp ice spear. Ah, that's right. The dead guy had a partner.  
"Now that wasn't nice," Brynjolf taunted.  
The Mer's eyes narrowed but only for a second before flames engulfed him, clinging to him and he burned quickly, turning to ash. Brynjolf looked to Lilith who looked as surprised as he did. At least until Syra landed between them. Her chest heaved as tendrils of smoke trailed from her mouth into the air.  
"You okay, lass?" Brynjolf asked.  
"Perfect," she replied.  
Lilith caught hold of Syra's arm, turning the Halfling so they were eye to eye.  
"I said not to tap into any more powers," she scolded.  
She sounded mad but hurt as well. Syra smirked.  
"I didn't tap into it."  
She lifted her hands, revealing a faint glow around hands that trembled.  
"It found me and I can't get rid of it."  
Her voice was shaking just a bit. Lilith released her,slowly, looking worried.  
"Do I even want to know what that means?" Brynjolf asked.  
"No," both women said.  
He opened his mouth to object a bit but a shout rang out from the doors of the Hold.  
"Arch-Mage!"  
Lilith sighed, turning angrily and starting for the stairs. Syra and Brynjolf followed.

 

(SYRA)

 

I could feel Brynjolf's eyes on me and I tried hiding the shaking of my hands. I reached for the sword at my hip. Where was this power coming from? I could practically hear my heart in my ears but chose not to focus on that. Lilith was running her hands over the great doors. I paused on the stairs, surveying the front.  
"Brynjolf," I said, as if I didn't already have his full attention on me.  
"Yeah?"  
I caught hold of his arm, leading him as I spoke.  
"We're not going in the front doors," I explained. "We'll-"  
"Scale the building and capture the Jarl. Force the city to surrender."  
I looked at Brynjolf, surprised that he'd come up with my exact plan. He smirked, pinching my chin briefly.  
"Lass, I'm full of surprises."  
I chose to ignore the wink that followed his words,casting a final glimpse at Lilith as she chanted her spell. She was so focused but she was also front and center and going to be the first victim when the slaughter began. I would not hestitate. Not wanting to dull my sword and lacking daggers, I had to fit my fingers into the worn holes in the stone wall of the Hold, much slower than making new ones with a handy dagger. Still, I moved faster than Brynjolf who was like every Nord, bulky, his thicker fingers unable to fit in the spots I found.  
"Remember not to fall," I threw over my shoulder.  
Brynjolf didn't respond but he accepted the challenge I offered and picked up the pace. I,meanwhile, gritted my teeth against the pain in my arm and kept moving.

 

(GENERAL)

Dagny was not suppose to be in her father's rooms. She shouldn't have been anywhere but the basement, safe with her brothers and the maid that was suppose to be dutifully watching them. The maid that was scandalously entertaining the blasted Thalmor her father always raved about. Dagny peeked over her shoulder, though she was alone. The guards had abandoned guarding the doors, summoned to the great hall, ready to charge the enemy once the great doors opened. It was utterly ridiculous for her to be cowering in the smelly basement with her two dumb brothers. Her time was better spent swiping the coins she now helped herself to in order to send for the new dress she'd been waiting for. She deserved something nice. Grabbing the last loose coin off the dresser, she turned to go, startled by the shattering of glass. She let out a terrified Yip! dropping the coins. They clattered to the floor, mixing with the glass and the two invaders that came in with the glass. Dagny's mouth dropped as one rose, her body shimmering as if she was one of the Nine. Sharp and cold blue eyes shot to Dagny, widening in surprise before narrowing.Dagny shook herself, ignoring the fallen coins and running for the door. But an invisible force wrapped around her, stalling her for just a second. And in that second, the woman's arms wrapped around her, trapping Dagny with the enemy.  
"She'll do," the woman said.  
Her partner, a Nord, looked hesitant. Regardless, Dagny was passed to him while the woman surveyed the room. Her eyes landed on the dresser and she opened a drawer, smirking and shaking her head.  
"Nice to know the ruling class still sleep in fear," she remarked, brandishing the dagger.  
Dagny began to squirm, opening her mouth to scream. In two steps, the woman was before her, leering down at her menacingly, a darkness taking over her features despite the light shimmering around her.  
"Once more, little one, and I will personally be removing your tongue," she threatened.  
"Syra," the Nord hissed.  
Syra ignored him.  
"Keep quiet and behave and I won't have to hurt you," Syra informed Dagny. "But the second you step out of line, I will destroy everything you hold dear. Understand?"  
Dagny nodded, rewarded with a nod of approval.  
"Good. Let's go."

 

(SYRA)

I tried not to feel anything. I'd never raised my hand to a child, it was the one thing no self respecting assassin would do. Or so my father said. Apparently the same was true of thieves since Brynjolf was hesitant to use a child as a hostage. My hands shook too bad to hold her and look convincing. I felt as if my body was on fire and the pain got worse everytime I tried to expel it. Finally, I just accepted it and managed it as best I could.  
"Lass," Brynjolf's voice said from far away.  
Did he know I was barely holding it together? I chose not to dwell, quickening my steps so that I emerged from the sequestered rooms of the Jarl. I hadn't expected the Jarl, his generals and any of the Imperial Captains to be gathered around a table with plans and maps laid upon it but it certainly saved me time. They all reacted, clearly ready to attack. At least until Brynjolf came from behind me, dragging our hostage. The Jarl and his men stopped instantly, the only thing between the us and the Imperials. I smirked though it probably looked like more of a grimace given the sharp pains that pricked at my skin.  
"I see I have your attention," I said, keeping my features as neutrally smug as I could.  
"Dagny, I told you to remain in the basement," the Jarl hissed.  
He was panicking but hiding it well, probably to avoid scaring his child further.  
"What kind of coward takes a child hostage?"  
This question came from a dark elf, her red eyes zeroed in on Brynjolf, as if that was his idea. I stepped in her sight line, drawing her attention to me.  
"Whatever siege you have waiting outside those doors, you will put a stop to," I ordered of the Jarl, my eyes locked on the dark elf.  
She looked extremely dangerous. I brandished the dagger, pointing the sharp tip at Dagny. She let out a cry of fear as it nicked her chin. I hadn't meant to do that but the shaking in my hand had gotten so much worse. The dark elf smirked.  
"She's a coward, my lord. Look how she shakes," she said to the Jarl.  
"I wish that was why she was shaking," Brynjolf mumbled.  
"Girl, you ask me to choose between my daughter and my Hold. And even if I wanted to, I do not control this army," the Jarl said, stepping forward.  
The dark elf moved with him, tenser now that he was closer to me.  
"Then who does?" I demanded.  
Every second wasted here was another second that Lilith was closer to getting through the door. And closer to her death.  
"We do."  
One of the Thalmor had spoken up, looking smug. The pain that crashed down on me was stronger than any I had felt so far. I felt the power ripping through me as it forced itself from me, throwing as much of itself as it could at the Thalmor. He didn't stand a chance. He watched in stark horror as it tore at him until it was upon him, swallowing him whole before dispersing, leaving only a mangled corpse in its wake. I blacked out, just for a second, and when my vision cleared, there was absolute panic. And Brynjolf. I stared into the curve of his jaw, at the faint shadow of a beard there as I blinked away the staggering darkness. He was looking down at me.  
"You let her go," I said.  
He rolled his eyes, setting me on my feet.  
"She's just a child and we weren't getting very far with her."  
A loud cry cut into our arguing and we both turned. The dark elf was trying to ward of the loose power, the sorceror at her side throwing up ward after ward which the raw power tore through as it fought its way to her.  
"What is that?" Brynjolf asked.  
His gaze went to me, his eyes widening a bit before he reached for me. I flinched when his fingers brushed my lip, coming back stained with blood.  
"You're hurt," he observed.  
I swatted his hand away.  
"I'm fine."  
Now that the power was gone, I was fine. But if I didn't stop this magic force, there was a chance that it would kill the Jarl and it wouldn't be much longer before Lilith made it through the doors. I drew my sword, charging the power before it could hit the ward again. I sliced through it and it was like hitting water. The current that flowed through me was cold and unforgiving, yanking me under before sending me flying back. I hit a wall, falling and landing on a display table, the sound of glass really driving home the force that I'd been thrown with.  
'Anger has made him blind and stronger.'  
Kynareth was back, her presence surrounding me like the air that represented her. She was looking for an opening, some way into my body. I blocked her as best I could. At least until she clarified what was going on.  
"Who is he?" I asked, not caring if anyone heard me.  
'He is a bigger part of you then any one of us, be us Divine or Daedric. He is very much you. He is Talos.'  
"Talos," I breathed.  
The room went cold and at that second the ward broke. But the power, Talos, had no interest in the dark elf beyond it, waiting for him with her sword drawn, as if that would help her. Like a released arrow, that power came for me. I scrambled from the table just as Talos's blind force crashed into the wall.  
'Do not fear him,' Kynareth urged. 'He is part of you. He only wants to help.'  
I looked at the bodies of the dead Thalmor, at how bad they'd been torn apart. I remembered the agony of feeling like I was being torn apart as well and I felt actual fear growing in the pit of my stomach. Only for a second though as Talos crashed into me next, his power overwhelming me. I screeched with what air I had left and then I was underwater again, the air stolen from me, merging with the cold.  
'Do you feel that?'  
This voice was not Kynareth or Molag Bal. No, it was completely new to me. I shut my eyes as I felt the icey coldness stabbing at me.  
'That is my hatred for the Mer, for the evil they have brought into this land.'  
I opened my eyes again, face to face with the outline of a man though his features were not well defined.  
'I despise you,' he said.  
"Yeah, I don't like you either," I replied.  
He was clearly taken aback at my words.  
"But Kynareth said you were part of me. And it makes sense. My father was a Nord. And my mother was a Mer and their races do not define me. If you go around killing only because an individual is a Mer, you're no better than the Mer you hunt.'  
Then again, Talos had gone after the Thalmor first so he clearly knew who his main enemy was.  
"You need to go," I went on. "Whatever problems remain are for the living, not the dead."  
Talos did not like that but, if what I had heard of him was true, he was a smart man. The cold receded, bit by bit before it was completely gone and I was back in the Jarl's Hold. All eyes were on me and I realized then that it was just the two of us against a small force and our hostage was gone. But none of them made a move for their weapons.  
"By the Nine," whispered the Jarl."What are you?"


	18. Honor

(GENERAL)  
Lilith finally broke through the enchantment on the door, an enchantment she'd noticed had weakened bit by bit, her own power drawing away as she felt the magic pulsing behind the door, too big for the Hold. The after shock of magic being expelled was the first thing to greet her when the great doors creaked open. The next was Syra, looking smug but grim.  
"General," she greeted, stepping forward.  
She gestured to the Great Hall with flourish.  
"Your Hold awaits."

 

She had no use for political talk, choosing instead to join Brynjolf and Syra who were sitting against the balcony wall. Brynjolf saw her approach, smirking in greeting but Syra, sitting with her knees raised and her arms resting on them, had laid her forehead on her arms.  
"You alright?" she asked, resting a hand on the coarse black hair.  
Syra grunted in response, her voice sounding like she was a thousand miles away.  
"She was channeling a lot of power today," Brynjolf pointed out though the situation had already been explained to her.  
Lilith squatted, careful not to unsettle either of their tankards.  
"When I left them, the General and the Jarl were hashing out final details but Whiterun pretty much belongs to the Stormcloaks at this point," she reported.  
Brynjolf nodded, mouth shut for once as he waited for more.  
"I don't think it wise that Syra or I remain here. We are still Mer and part of the rebellion force. The entire place is overrun by either Stormcloaks or Imperials," Lilith went on.  
"So, you want to leave tonight?" Brynjolf asked, mostly for clarification.  
Lilith nodded.  
He glanced Syra's way.  
"She's not aware enough to travel," he said.  
"That's why she's riding with you," Lilith informed him, rising.  
She brushed herself off, ignoring the sharp pains in her stomach.  
"You alright?" Brynjolf inquired, his hand curling around her upper arm.  
Lilith couldn't remember a time that his touch didn't disgust her. But the feel of his hand on her didn't disgust her like it use to. Instead, she offered him a weak smile.  
"Fine," she said. "I fell off the horse earlier and landed wrong."  
Brynjolf accepted the lie, releasing her and turning his attention back on Syra. She was in a dead slumber, no doubt worn from channeling Talos. All for the better. Lilith had a lot to think about, regarding Syra as well as herself.

 

They got a few strange looks as they left, probably because Brynjolf had slung Syra over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. No one tried to stop them at least and they were able to leave the city. Shadowmere waited for them or more to the point, waited for Syra. As soon as he saw her, even slung over Brynjolf's shoulder, he shook off the stable hand and trotted over. Lilith caught the reins as soon as he was close enough, looking to Brynjolf.  
"Think you can handle this?" she asked.  
"Lass, horses I've ridden my entire life. Its dragons I have to get use to," Brynjolf replied.  
Lilith smirked at that, pulling her coin purse out.  
"Saddle up," she instructed, already heading to the stable master. "I have to see a man about purchasing a horse."  
Brynjolf didn't ask, lifting Syra into the saddle. She was conscious enough to grab the saddle horn to support herself. Brynjolf caught hold of her thigh, hoping to keep her steady.  
"You okay, lass?" he asked.  
"Just dizzy," she replied.  
She looked down at Brynjolf, her already light eyes even lighter.  
"Don't worry,lass. We're leaving and you can rest on the way."  
"Where are we going?" Syra inquired.  
The talking seemed to be returning her alertness. She was a bit more steady in the saddle and Brynjolf released her thigh, swinging up behind him. The horse snorted its displeasure but stayed still as Brynjolf settled. As soon as he did, he coaxed Syra to lay against him.  
"Sleep, lass. You'll feel better afterwards."  
Syra sighed, as if she was annoyed and Brynjolf expected her to snap at him.  
"I like when you call me lass," she mumbled instead.  
She was so quiet, Brynjolf almost missed it. He smiled and opened his mouth, the teasing coming automatically. Lilith stopped him, riding up on the horse she'd just purchased.  
"Ready?" she asked.  
Brynjolf nodded, earning him a nod from Lilith. She urged her horse forward and Brynjolf followed.

 

(SYRA)  
I felt like I was between two worlds. One minute, I could feel cold air biting at my cheeks, Brynjolf's body warming my backside and Shadowmere's body, strong and lithe beneath me. The next, I was drowning in absolute darkness. The cold here was even worse than the one on my cheeks. Maybe because I was drowning in it. It burned my throat as I swallowed gulps of it, like frigid water. I tried clawing my way free. I knew I succeeded when I could feel the world outside my body but my strength was waning and I was being pulled down again and again, each time further into that damnable water.  
'Stop fighting.'  
Strong hands wrapped around my waist, warming me. I stared into a shadowed figure, the energy working its way into my body familiar.  
'Talos,' I realized.  
His face became clearer to me. The beard decorating his face was a deep,earth brunette. I reached out, touching it, ignoring the anger that built in those deep blue eyes. He caught my hand, squeezing.  
'Your presence was blocked from me,' he said.  
He threw aside my hand, his own crushing the sides of my head. He had huge hands, something I noticed occurred in most Nordic men. My father had had big hands too.  
'What hides your presence from me?' he demanded.  
His eyes glowed, an icy blue that sent ice deep within me very much like the darkness that had held me before Talos. And as the darkness spread, further and further, another force pushed back, rising through me to meet Talos's own. I readied myself for what I worried would be a painful encounter but the other force easily swallowed up Talos. He seemed stunned as he released me, practically throwing me away as darkness oozed from me. Once again, I found myself in Nocturnal's dark embrace.  
'You fool,' she intoned, her darkness reaching for Talos.  
He backed away, clearly trying to get some distance. Nocturnal was not deterred. Her birds shot from the darkness, zipping towards him.  
'You cannot defeat me,' Talos declared, a battle axe of pure ice materializing in his hands.  
Nocturnal chuckled, her darkness wrapping tighter around me.  
'You are half right,' she gloated. 'But now I have a champion and she fuels me.'  
Talos brought his axe down on her birds but they darted past the large blade, twirling upwards. With a growl, Talos threw aside his axe but Nocturnal's birds abandoned the axe, wrapping around Talos instead. He struggled as their hold tightened but to no avail. Struggling, Talos fell to his knees. Nocturnal's darkness left me and I was cold again.  
'A champion, my dear Talos,' Nocturnal gloated.  
She gestured to me.  
'They make all the difference. Be we Daedric Princes ,like myself, or Divine ,like yourself, are born of equal power. There is one that stands above us. The rest must seek matching powers by claiming a champion.'  
Talos glared my way.  
'Very well,' he relented. 'I name her my champion.'  
Nocturnal laughed.  
'You are much too late, Talos. She is mine. Until such time as she completes the task I desire of her, she is not up for grabs.'  
Talos roared in rage, fighting against the birds that held him. Nocturnal did not seem concerned. She glanced my way.  
'Hear me, Champion,' she intoned, that last word sounding as though she was mocking me. 'I have given you a task. Fail me and the consequences will be grave.'  
'I'm working on it,' I snapped, glaring her way.  
Nocturnal ignored my tone but I noticed one of the birds slip away from Talos. It slithered away from Nocturnal, shooting straight for me. Last second, it morphed into a snake that twisted past my attempts to block it. The snake embedded itself in my chest, the pain stealing my breath. Nocturnal's eyes were on me no as I writhered in pain.  
'Those consequences are your very life.'

 

(SYRA)  
I woke up again, once again in a strange bed. I cursed my luck. What kind of reputation was I getting fighting and then collapsing, like some damn rookie? I threw off the blanket, rising. My bloodstained armor was gone, replaced with some tunic that I had to say were rather comfortable. As well as reminiscent of the gowns I remembered being popular with some of the high class women in the Imperial City. I remembered as a child how I wanted nothing more than to wear one, a want that quickly faded as I got older. The only clothes I ever needed was my uniform. An ache in my arm brought me from my memories. I looked down to find my arm bandaged again. I'd almost forgotten about Alduin's attack. I sighed, sitting back down on the bed, mentally going through a list of what I had to take care of. Nocturnal was the first, I decided,recalling her brawl with Talos. And what she'd done to me. My chest ached but I ignored it still going over my list. But Alduin, yes, he was definitely second.  
"You're up."  
Farkas stepped from the shadows. He looked tired, his war paint absent from his face.  
"What's wrong?" I asked, alert.  
"Lilith," he replied.  
He seemed to be searching for more words but was unable to.  
"Where is she?"

 

(General)  
Lilith opened her eyes, staring into pale blue eyes that floated above her. The stone room was dark enough usually but Farkas must have gone overboard and blown out the army of candles Lilith left lit when she was in the room.  
"Should I be worried?" Lilith asked.  
"What's wrong?" Syra demanded. "All Farkas said was that you were bedridden."  
Lilith smirked. She was glad that Farkas seemed to like Syra so much. She was also glad that he didn't like her so much that he'd betray their secret.  
"I suppose I have to share my secrets with you. You've shared yours with me," she said.  
She patted the empty bed space beside her and Syra, reluctantly, climbed in, settling as comfortably as she could. As soon as she fell eerily still, no doubt a byproduct of her upbringing as an assassin, Lilith began.  
"I'm not who everyone thinks I am," she started.  
"So, you're not Arch-Mage?" Syra asked, deadpan.  
"Hush you," Lilith ordered, swatting at Syra. "  
Syra smirked which Lilith took as a good sign.  
"Let's just say, even with your decades in Coldharbour, I'm much older than you. I've been alive for so long," Lilith went on.  
"How?" Syra asked, brow furrowed.  
Lilith could see the wheels turning in the Halfling's head.  
"I am spawned from Dibella and Jyggalag," Lilith explained, watching Syra's eyes widen.  
She tried to hurry through the rest.  
"Its why my magicka is so powerful. Dibella is the Divine that rules love and all the crazy that comes with it. Meanwhile, Jyggalag, now free from the Greymarch and all it entitles, is the Daedric Prince of order. I have the perfect mix of both in me. Meaning there are more spells open to me than to -"  
"But, you're an Altmer," Syra interrupted.  
"Dibella is the goddess of beauty," Lilith said. "And she had some odd obsession with high elves back then."  
"Hm," was all Syra said.  
Her brow had furrowed even more.  
"My father grew too powerful in the opinion of his fellow Princes. My birth was the final straw and when they found us, after we'd gone in hiding, they cursed him to live as Sheogorath," Lilith hurried on before Syra could interrupt her again.  
She grimaced as the pain that had coiled deep in her stomach spread, briefly, before retreating. After a few deep breaths, Lilith continued.  
"My father was released from his curse at predetermined times but he spent what little time he had fighting to reclaim his lands. Because to the key to leaving those lands are at his capital. At the end of the third era, Sheogorath found himself a champion and father was freed to roam Oblivion."  
"How does this explain what's happening to you?" Syra asked.  
"I'm getting there," Lilith grunted, unwrapping the robes wrapped around her body.  
Syra's eyes bulged as she beheld the bump that the robes had hidden well.  
"You," Syra began. "And you still went to battle?"  
Syra looked to Lilith.  
"Are you insane?!" she demanded.  
"A deal is a deal," Lilith said. "And I was very careful."  
Syra glared, clearly fighting her urge to throttle Lilith.  
"My mother has found a way to free my father from the wilds of Oblivion.," Lilith hurried on, successfully distracting Syra. “To give him access to this world and even her own realm again.”  
Curiosity, carefully hidden by a mask of indifference, cascaded down Syra's face, covering the anger that had just been there.  
"To do so, she needs me to act as a conduit of sorts. From one side, she will push and from the other, he will. And I will be the go between.”  
Pain wracked down Lilith's legs and she bit her lip, holding back the screech that she desperately wanted to unleash. But she knew how badly Farkas was freaking out and she knew that any noise from her indicating pain would freak him out. Lilith reached out, taking hold of Syra's hand.  
"When the Greymarch still happened, Sheogorath needed somewhere to go and for the longest time, he was sealed away in my body. My parents' magic will flow through the same channels to form a bond," Lilith went on.  
"Will it hurt you?" Syra asked. Lilith smiled.  
"No. But the stress of it might induce me. So I'm bedridden for the time being. Which brings me to the favor I have of you."  
Syra sighed.  
"What do you need?" she asked.  
"Go to Windhelm and report to Ulfric. But don't tell him why I'm not there."  
"And what if he expects you for another battle?" Syra asked.  
"He sent me to die," Lilith replied, her voice cold. "I think we're far more than even."

 

(SYRA)  
I sought out Farkas only to find him outside in the frigid wind, staring down at Winterhold. As much as I didn't want to, I left the much warmer inside, joining him with as many layers on as I could manage. His lips quirked as I positioned myself at his side.  
"She told you?" he asked.  
"Basically everything," I replied.  
Even to me my voice was muffled.  
"Do you mind?" Farkas asked.  
I sighed.  
"What does it matter?" I asked. "You both have done alot for me. I owe you."  
I flinched when Farkas wrapped a meaty arm around me, drawing me into an embrace. He never came off as a touchy feely kind of guy. What had Lilith done to him? Besides that, I wasn't going to complain too much. His body was extremely warm. Too soon, Farkas drew back and the warmth was eaten by the cold.  
"Just let me know when you want to leave," he said. "Although I believe Brynjolf took your horse."  
"Shadowmere?" I asked.  
I made a mental note to kick the thief's ass at a later date.  
"Whenever he returns, chain him to a chair," I requested. "He's lucky I don't need a horse."  
Farkas looked confused which led me to believe Lilith hadn't told him about the trick I kept in my sleeve. I didn't worry about it. He'd know soon enough. Without warning him, I took a few running steps before launching myself off the college. The more I did it, the easier it was to change from the mortal flesh I wore into a dragon. There was slight panic as I felt the ground coming closer and closer but finally my wings formed and I pulled up, shooting upwards until I felt the cold wind flow across my scaled wings and knew, somewhere in my dragon mind, that I'd found the current.

 

(GENERAL)  
"My Jarl!"  
Ulfric tried not to sigh in annoyance.  
He had not heard one word from his troops in Whiterun. Surely they'd either taken the city or the battalion had failed, leaving nothing but stragglers to report what had happened. He held onto that probability as he faced one of his city guard. The young lad was panting, clearly distressed. He must have been new.  
"What?"  
"A dragon... over the city," he reported.  
Ulfric swore.  
"Order the people into their homes," he barked.  
The young guard scurried away as Ulfric followed in his cowardly wake. He could hear his generals yelling for him but he would not stop. As he emerged from the Palace of Kings, his eyes went to the sky, to the dragon as it circled the palace. Its red scales shined in the sunlight and Ulfric allowed himself to admire it for but a second. Everything changed when it landed just outside the arch leading to the palace's courtyard. His men moved in and Ulfric drew his sword, approaching with them. The dragon seemed amused as it sat there a moment before its body began to shrink. Cries of surprise came from his men as the dragon vanished, leaving the Halfling in its place. Ice blue eyes went to Ulfric.  
"Your jaw," she said, approaching him, not at all deterred by the weapons still pointed her way, as if she was still a dragon. "All is well in Whiterun. Balgruuf has surrendered the city and your men have seized it."  
Ulfric just nodded. He wasn't sure how to respond, not after what he'd just seen. Meanwhile, the Halfling, Syra, adjusted her cowl, hiding her already reddening nose.  
"Back to your posts," he ordered his guards, his eyes still on Syra.  
He gestured to the Palace of Kings, eyes still on her. "Inside," was all he said.  
She did not object, brushing past him to head inside. The guards that flanked him cleared a path for her, looking upon the Halfling with new eyes. She'd earned their fear if not their respect, Ulfric observed. He followed in her wake, his men clearly reluctant to let him go with her without a whole armada between. Ulfric was not deterred, nodding to the guards posted at the door to open it and allow her inside.

 

(SYRA)  
I fought hard not to melt in relief. The Palace of Kings was so much warmer compared to the weather outside. But I needed to project a blank face so as not to reveal too much.  
"The Hold is mine you say," Ulfric said as the doors closed heavily behind him.  
"What did I say?" I demanded.  
He circled me and I watched him, listening to his footsteps when he was out of my line of sight.  
"If that is true, why have none of my men reported to me?" he retorted.  
"How am I to know the goings on of your men?" I snapped. "I was much too weary after that fight to think straight."  
"Weary? I did not realize the Dragonborn could grow weary of battle."  
I refused to let his taunt irritate me.  
"I rest more of the blame for my weariness more on the amount of blood loss I suffered. When Alduin attacked."  
Ulfric's footsteps halted.  
"Alduin, you say?"  
There was true fear in his voice. I had the urge to utilize it to bend him to my will but that was a delicate process, one that required time and no interruptions. And there were too many variables for me to be confident in that.  
"Lilith's debt to you is paid," I went on.  
"Ah, so there is your true purpose for coming here," Ulfric realized.  
He sounded smug, the ass. I glanced at him, blank faced.  
"And why did the great Arch Mage not come herself?"  
His tone was one of sarcasm, as if he believed she did not deserve the title. As if she didn't measure up.  
"As you said, she is the Arch Mage. She has important business to deal with. She can not be wasting time with warmongering whelps such as the likes of you."  
I smirked at that one, knowing it struck deep as he tensed, sending a glare my way. Without another word, I headed for the doors, convinced I had won.  
"It is true that Lilith does not owe me a debt any longer but you do."  
His words stopped me dead in my tracks.  
"Pardon?" I asked.  
I faced him head on and his smug was back.  
"Do you know I lost quite a few of my spies behind enemy lines looking for you? It wasn't like Lilith used some little spell to find you. My operatives were caught and tortured and most likely dead because they were looking for information on you."  
I swore under my breath,cursing my father for the sense of honoring ones debts that he'd instilled in me.  
"Fine," I relented. "I owe you. What do you want?"  
"We've stirred the Thalmor," Ulfric explained. "They're sequestering themselves in their embassy."  
I faintly remembered the embassy. Grier had mentioned something in passing of taking me there but I hadn't believed. She was a Nord after all. Had she been working with the Thalmor. I cursed myself. Of course she had been. She'd been a spy.  
"What few spies I have left have told me that there are still a few stragglers stationed in Solitude. I need you to break in and find out whatever you can," Ulfric went on. "And then, I will consider your debt paid."  
I glared his way.  
"Assassins don't settle debts. They eradicate the ones they owe them to."  
Ulfric smirked.  
"Do you know why there are few Nord assassins?" he asked. He didn't give me a chance to respond. "Because Nords raise their children with honor, Halfling," he explained.  
"My father wasn't raised by Nords," I retorted. "Don't test your luck."  
Still, my father had instilled in me honor of a sort and I found myself heading to the doors, to do his bidding.


	19. Fight Me

(General)  
"Thank you for meeting us, Bryn," Delvin said as Brynjolf sat down.  
Brynjolf glanced at Vex who was surveying the inn's occupants.  
"Vex, ease up," he urged.  
She didn't acknowledge his words but she did sit, stiffly.  
"Bryn."  
Delvin's voice recaptured his attention.  
"You really undermined the Guild," he scolded. "No one's taking any jobs and Mercer's not taking this situation seriously."  
Brynjolf sighed.  
"Mercer won't let me back. He's got too much pride."  
"Then you're going to have to swallow yours."  
Vex's voice was sharp. Then again, she never was too fond of the colder weather. Brynjolf grinned, thinking of another lass that held little fondness for the cold. He had to swallow a chuckle as he remembered her wrapped in all those layers.  
"You think I'm joking?" Vex demanded.  
"No," Brynjolf said quickly, valuing the use of both his arms.  
"Bryn," Delvin said, resting a hand on Vex's arm. "You're a great thief. You were born to do it. This girl, you saved her. You did your job. Walk away."  
Vex yanked her arm away, crossing them across her chest. Brynjolf sensed there was more going on.  
"What do you know?" he asked, suspicious.  
Delvin sighed, glancing at Vex who wouldn't meet his eyes.  
"V," he whispered.  
"She saved my ass," Vex snapped. "I won't turn against the Guild for her but I owe her."  
Delvin sighed again, reaching into his pocket and brandishing a poster. He unfolded the brown, leathery paper and slid it to Brynjolf. His eyes traced the face, finding similarities to Syra but nothing concrete. The face staring back at him was much, much younger. Vex was looking at him, watching for the exact moment his eyes fell on the word 'WANTED' at the top. His mouth went dry. Vex leaned in a bit closer then.  
"The Morag Tong came by, flashing their fancy little Writ of Execution," she informed him.  
"They marched right into the Cistern," Delvin informed him. "Straight to Mercer. Gave him these. And then they gave us a story."  
"What do you mean?" Brynjolf asked, folding the paper as the innkeeper passed by.  
"The girl, her father was an assassin for the Morag Tong."  
"He was a Nord," Brynjolf objected.  
"A Nord raised by Dunmer," Delvin retorted. "He became an assassin and he continued to work for them even when he started knocking boots with one of the Dark Brotherhood's finest."  
"He was suppose to kill them. All the assassins in the sanctuary," Vex added.  
She tapped the paper.  
"They put an official hit on his daughter!" she hissed. "And somehow, they know she's alive. They know that one of our own, you, helped free her from the Thalmor. Bryn, they're looking for you!"  
Brynjolf ran a hand over his face, swearing to himself.  
"And they still want her dead."  
"Mercer didn't say a word to them," Delvin informed him. "We may be down on our luck but your safest bet is to come back with us."  
"I have to warn her," Brynjolf insisted, rising.  
"No!" Delvin objected, rising as well. "That girl has the Arch-Mage at her back as well as the Companions that follow her lead. She'll be fine."  
Brynjolf looked at him, staring into his eyes.  
"Delvin, you've been a good friend to me. In my darkest hour, you were there for me. You've had my back. Arch-Mage or not, there are some things Lilith cannot do because of the positions she holds. But me, I'm just a lowly thief. I've got nothing to lose. She needs someone on her side to have her back."  
"If they catch you, they will torture the information out of you," Vex remarked.  
"Let them," Brynjolf said. "I know how they operate. They aren't criminals."  
"Be careful," was all Delvin said as he and Vex watched Brynjolf leave.

 

(SYRA)  
I kept to the shadows. This is what I was made for. Stealth. A guard passed me and I pushed up against the wall, slowing my breathing enough that the movement wasn't as obvious. I wasn't meant for war, despite the beast lurking in me. The guard passed, continuing on his patrol and I ducked out of the shadows, jogging through the stretch of yard before ducking behind the slanting walkway up. I listened for signs that they noticed my presence and, finding none, I continued on, a slight burn in my thighs and legs from all the crouching I was doing. I'd allowed my most prized muscles go unused for too long. I'd be sore come morning but if all went well, I'd be free to return to Lilith as well. I glanced around before pressing my ear to the door. Silence greeted me and I tested the knob, gently, happy to find that it was unlocked. With one last glance over my shoulder, I ducked into the room. The empty, seemingly harmless, room. But I'd learned my lesson, pausing long enough to get a feel for the room. I didn't feel anything and the magic that usually followed Altmer had left no residue. I uncurled, creeping to the desk. The drawers were askew as if someone had yanked them open in a hurry. Which was good. I'd often found that marks in a hurry often missed the very thing they were trying to hide. Tucked inside one of the draws was a stack of letters, old letters, since the few I unfolded were pointed more towards the war and the capture of Ulfric. Those must have meant Helgen. I had to wonder how stupid the Altmer felt having lost their prize. I skimmed the papers before I decided to pocket them. If it was the best I could bring him, Ulfric would have to deal. I did a quick sweep of what remained of the upstairs before I decided to creep down the stairs. Ulfric hadn't been exaggerating. The Thalmor had cleared out, picking apart the rooms in such a way that they reminded me of the mammoth carcasses I saw in passing whenever I was on the road. They may have been rapists and murderers but the Thalmor knew how to clean up after themselves. I was still marveling at the emptiness of the room when I heard the crinkle of paper under my boot. Looking down, I discovered another folded note, the likes of which had to have escaped from its masters and fallen to the floor in whatever kind of chaos ensued when the Thalmor packed up. Bending down, I unfolded it, my eyes scanning the words. The good news was that it was recent. The bad news, it had to do with Lilith.

 

(General)  
"You alright?"  
Lilith opened her eyes, offering a weak smile to Farkas.  
"I'm fine," she said in response, despite feeling anything but.  
Farkas smiled.  
"You know, when it comes to the arcane arts and any History, you are the superior intelligence," he said, lowering himself to his knees beside her bed.  
Lilith held up her hand and he encased it in his own.  
"There's a 'but' coming," she said.  
"But I know you," he went on. "And I know when you're in pain."  
Lilith chuckled.  
"I don't care what happens to me. Its the baby I'm worried about," she admitted. "And you."  
Farkas sighed.  
"Then I guess its a good thing I'm here to worry about you."  
Lilith opened her mouth to speak but paused, her attention drawn off somewhere. Suddenly, she swore.  
"Farkas, help me up," she ordered, trying to get up.  
Farkas looked bewildered.  
"But-" he began.  
Lilith shoved a finger in his face, her face contorted with the struggle as well as a determination he knew better than to argue with. He rose, gently lifting her from the bed and supporting her as she gathered her strength. Which didn't take long. She shook off whatever had weakened her and strode to the heavy door in her chambers, pushing through them into the cold air of Winterhold. Farkas was right on her heels but whatever had alerted her was lost on him. Lilith swore, massaging her temples.  
"What is it?" Farkas asked.  
"Thalmor," Lilith replied.  
She was concentrating.  
"They're here for me," she reported, trying to take the edge off their true intentions.  
She could see the very moment Farkas caught on. A beast's savagery entered his eyes.  
"How many?" he asked.  
"I know what you're thinking," Lilith said. "And I advise against it."  
She looked to the town, to the chorus of thoughts that swirled together. There were so many. Perhaps it was time to call for some help.  
"Farkas, can you go tell the other mages. I don't expect them to fight for me."  
Farkas gritted his teeth, clearly upset by this but he sighed after a few moments in surrender and went inside. Lilith returned her attention back to the Thalmor waiting to strike. She would receive no help from Winterhold. They did not approve of the college and would certainly not put their own necks on the line even if it was to prevent the Thalmor from potentially gaining some sort of upper hand. Lilith shut out their thoughts, choosing to not hear the poison that swam through their minds, letting her eyes trail towards the sky.  
"I know its been awhile," she whispered into the cold night. "But I need you help."  
She touched the amulet around her neck.  
"Come to me, Dibella, for without you, my words must lie dull and leaden without the gilding of grace and sagacity to enchant the reader's ear and eye," she intoned.  
The change was instant. And Lilith could feel the rush of magic as it rolled across her skin. Anyone else would have shivered but passed it off as the usual weather in Winterhold. But Lilith knew the truth as the golden light swirled around her.  
"You called," said the voice inside the light.  
Lilith smiled.  
"Hello, Mother," she greeted, unpinning the amulet from her neck and placing it into the light.  
"Ah, wonderful," the voice crooned. "Now what form shall I take?"  
Lilith rolled her eyes.  
"Mother, make haste," she requested. "We have work to do."  
"Very well, my heart. I shall do just that."

 

"Halt!"  
Brynjolf yanked the reigns of the horse, effectively stopping it just shy of the Thalmor Guard. The gold armor had him on edge.  
"What business do you have in Winterhold?" demanded the guard.  
Brynjolf flashed her a grin.  
"Now, lass, if I told you that, I'd be in trouble."  
The guard's eyes narrowed.  
"If you do not, you will be in trouble."  
"Just tell her, you idiot."  
The voice came from behind the barricade and that voice was accompanied by Syra. She was still bundled up but her face was uncovered as she approached, her nose painfully red. Brynjolf grinned at the cross expression on her face, no doubt at the fact that he was seated in the saddle of her horse. She faced the guard.  
"I apologize," she said. "My idiot husband can be snarky sometimes."  
"I suppose you can explain his business," the guard assumed.  
"Of course," Syra said. "He finally gets a job to retrieve and deliver this horse to the Arch-Mage."  
Her lie was told smoothly enough but it set the guard on edge.  
"I'm going to need you to get off the horse and surrender it to me," she said.  
Syra glanced at Brynjolf.  
"Well, get off the horse," she ordered. "This place is swarming with them and I don't want to be caught in the crossfire."  
Something in her gaze told him not to get off the horse. The guard turned to Brynjolf, her attention off Syra.  
"You heard her," she said, sounding smug.  
That's when Syra struck, her dagger, hidden up until that point, slid easily across the guard's throat, cutting it wide open. Syra drew back, flicking her blade clean.  
"Shadowmere, forward," she ordered the horse.  
The horse tossed its mane, surging forward. Brynjolf reached out, catching Syra's outstretched hand and pulling her up in front of him, her feet dangling off the side of the horse.  
"Nicely done, la-"  
"Mouth shut," Syra ordered, taking the reins from him.  
He let her, even going so far as to obey her orders.  
"I advise you to hold on and hold on tight," Syra went on. "Also, squeeze."  
Brynjolf obeyed those orders as well, his arms circling Syra's waist just as Shadowmere launched itself over another barricade. Syra swore as the horse stumbled a bit on the thin bridge that led to the college.  
"Take the reins," she ordered.  
He did, surprised, the surprise only growing when she twisted, pressing her face into his chest.  
"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"  
"There's a Divine here," she replied.  
She looked at him from the corner of her eye, the blue almost eclipsed by an eerie gold.  
"Get me to Lilith."

 

(SYRA)  
It was overwhelming. The force of the Divine got worse the closer we got to it. And I was grouchy. Morphing into a dragon once was strenuous enough but twice was clearly my limit. And now this. My body was automatically tapping into that stream of power, overcharging my body. I felt ready to explode all over again. Yet another mage bumped into me and I hissed, lashing out automatically. Brynjolf, ready for this by now, caught my wrist and kept walking, clearly alert to whatever had the mages in a panic. I was pulled along behind him.  
"Here we go," he said, shouldering open the door to Lilith's private quarters.  
'Finally,' I mentally grouched.  
I was so tired of the chaos of the halls. Two female voices greeted us as we entered. Lilith was tucked cozily in bed while a Dunmer woman fawned over her. To my knowledge, there was only one Dunmer here, not counting the half that I was. I froze in my tracks as the woman rose, looking our way. A coy smile played on those lips of hers.  
"Hello Syra," she greeted, standing fully.  
"Mother," I whispered, not fully believing my eyes.  
Lilith reached over grabbing the woman's wrist.  
"I know its a shock," she said, her words addressed to me. "This is Dibella, the embodiment of beauty."  
Dibella, still in the guise of my mother, brushed her ash black hair over her shoulder.  
"They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So I look very different to everyone."  
Her smile tore at my heart. I hadn't known how bad I missed my mother until I was face to face with her double.  
"You remember your mother's beauty. How sweet."  
She meant it too. She may have looked like my mother but Dibella had voice all her own. I focused solely on that, averting my eyes.  
"What's she doing here?" I demanded.  
Dibella chuckled.  
"Someone's cranky," she observed.  
"Mother," I heard Lilith warn.  
"Very well, I will behave," Dibella huffed.  
There was mischief in that tone though.  
"You've probably noticed the Thalmor in Winterhold," Lilith said.  
"Its hard not to," I replied, freeing myself from Brynjolf's grip.  
I rubbed at my nose which was sore and red still.  
"They're here to kill you," I added.  
Lilith seemed surprised I knew and I sensed she was about to ask. I cut her off by reaching into the front of my armor and removing the folded missive from its place between my breasts.  
"Ulfric sent me on an errand," I said in way of an explanation, tossing it her way.  
Dibella caught it, offering it to her daughter who unfolded it and read the instructions there.  
"They're not going to be happy," I went on. "I sliced one of them open. When they find her body, they'll most likely start their attack."  
"They'll try," Lilith said.  
She looked up from the missive.  
"I summoned my mother here for this very reason," Lilith went on. "I have to prepare myself which means I can't be using my magic at this time."  
"Are you up to it then?" Dibella asked, her question directed at me.  
I met red eyes that were an exact replica of my mother's.  
"Yes," I lied.  
Dibella glanced at Lilith.  
"Syra and I will head out to the bridge then," she reported. "Please bear in mind though we are nearing the time."  
"I know," Lilith replied. "And I'm ready. Just deal with them quickly."  
Lilith reached out, taking hold of Dibella's hand.  
"And be safe."  
Dibella nodded, squeezing Lilith's hand and the continued on, motioning for me to follow her. I did, Brynjolf following as well.  
"You're on your last leg," Dibella accused as soon as we were outside the door.  
"I'm fine," I snapped.  
"May I remind you that I am a Divine. I know more than it seems. You've used your power twice today without food or rest between and now you're feeling the backlash of my power."  
She touched my cheek, gently, and my irritation rose. I couldn't help it. I flinched, stepping back.  
"I've been reeling my power back more and more," she reported. "But you're still so sensitive to it."  
"What's she talking about?" Brynjolf asked.  
"I'll be fine," I assured her,him, both of them.  
This was frustrating.  
"We need only defend the bridge. That should be easy," I reasoned.  
Dibella studied me, those red eyes drilling into me as if she could read my mind. Finally, she backed off as well.  
"I will be placing a barrier around the college. To do so, I must find a high enough point. I advise you to remain inside until it is in place lest you be overwhelmed by my power," she finally said.  
"Fine," I said, just wanting her to go away.  
And it was no longer because she reminded me of my mother. She didn't say another word, turning on her heel and strutting away. Which my mother would never do. Yet another difference.  
"Lass."  
Brynjolf gently touched my shoulder.  
"If you even think about telling me to rest, you will never speak with a baritone again," I threatened,glaring his way.  
His lips quirked.  
"No, I wouldn't dare," he assured me.  
He held out a folded piece of paper to me.  
"I met with Delvin and Vex at a tavern not far from the Hold. They showed me this."  
I took the paper from him, unfolding it, despite already knowing what it was. My father had shown it to me, had given it to me and I'd carried it with me up until the day I'd lost it in on a particularly bad day in Coldharbour.  
"Where did you find this?" I asked.  
"The Morag Tong paid Mercer a visit in the Cistern," Brynjolf explained.  
I stared at my picture, trying to remember a time where I was this young. Realistically, I was over 200 years old. A relic of a time gone by.  
"They know you're alive," Brynjolf informed me.  
I smirked, folding the paper again and tucking it in my pocket.  
"So be it," I said, resigned. "They couldn't kill me before. I doubt their incompetence has resolved itself in the 200 years I was trapped."  
Brynjolf rolled his eyes, shaking his head.  
"Just be safe," he urged.  
I almost told him off until an idea struck me.  
"Deal," I said, relishing the look of surprise on his face. "But in return, you have to do something for me."  
Brynjolf's eyebrow rose and he crossed his arms, waiting.  
"Go back to Riften," I requested. "Rejoin your guild and be safe."  
His brow furrowed.  
"I-" he began.  
"Your presence is killing me," I informed him. "Nocturnal spoke to me, she told me of my brother who is still alive. But I did not carry out her wishes soon enough for her."  
"And what did she want of you?" Brynjolf demanded.  
"She wants you returned to her," I said. "And so I shall do just that. As soon as I know Lilith is safe, I'm taking you back."  
"Lass," he began.  
"I'm grateful for all that you have done for me," I interrupted him. "Truly I am. And one day, I will return the favor if I can but-"  
I sighed. Could I really return the favor? By the Nine, he'd broken into the Thalmor Embassy for me. That couldn't have been easy. And he'd lugged my barely conscious body cross country not once but twice.  
"I don't need you," I settled on, ignoring the hurt on his face. "Not at my side at least. I need you to just go."  
"If you had told me Nocturnal was hurting you I would have gone, lass," he said. "You don't have to push me away. You know I don't want to hurt you."  
"I do," I admitted, that knowledge hitting me. "And that's why I need you gone. You are too close to me."  
"And you're scared," Brynjolf surmised.  
"No. I'm not scared. Not of that. I long got use to faking it when I was in the Brotherhood," I replied, certainty in my voice. " And now that I see it firsthand, I don't want it. I don't want anything from you except for you to be gone."  
Before he could say anything else, I turned on my heel and walked away.

 

Dibella was waiting outside, clearly admiring her handiwork. As far as I could see, there was a clear, almost invisible shield stretched around the college. She glanced my way when I joined her, smirking ever so slightly.  
"It has been quite awhile since I've used my powers for things other than stirring creativity in Man and Mer alike."  
She clapped her hands.  
"You and my daughter are far more interesting to work alongside than Mara."  
"Enough," I said, waving off her words. "Are they coming?"  
"Of course they are."  
She sounded snobbish, as if it was obvious. I supposed it was obvious. Brynjolf's theatrics with Shadowmere had been anything but subtle. No doubt they'd found their slain guard and had rallied. It probably hadn't taken long, given how organized they tended to be.  
"You know she is in love with him."  
Dibella's voice distracted me from my thoughts.  
"What?" I asked.  
"Nocturnal."  
Dibella smiled as if sharing a secret between two sisters. It was an odd look to see on what was essentially my mother's face.  
"Its why she's been so demanding that you return him," Dibella went on. "Because every second he spends away from her fold, the less she sees of him."  
The idea was preposterous. A Daedra in love for a human. They didn't feel love. Only mild fascination.  
"They're coming," I alerted her, spotting the faintest hint of golden armor amongst the snowy air.  
Dibella chuckled, power flowing off her in waves, surrounding her. As it dispersed, it revealed an exact replica of Lilith. She rested a finger to her lips.  
"This should make them think the Arch-Mage is still in play," she said in way of explanation.  
"Do whatever you have to do," I replied.  
She ignored my remark and, smiling, headed towards the approaching Thalmor, the picture of grace. I followed, noticing just how loud everything was in the quiet of the weather.  
"Arch-Mage Lilith," intoned a Thalmor Justiciar. "We have orders to take you into our custody."  
Dibella paused just short of leaving her barrier and fully crossing into the army just outside it. I wondered if they noticed the shield or if they assumed that she, she being Lilith, would merely surrender herself to them.  
"On what grounds?" Dibella asked, brushing a strand of her, Lilith's, hair over her shoulder.  
The Justiciar opened his mouth to speak but Dibella was not done.  
"Perhaps I am suddenly a Talos worshiper," she mused.  
She glanced my way.  
"Am I, Syra?" she asked. "The notion seems rather ridiculous, does it not?"  
Thinking about it, the idea of a confirmed Divine worshiping one with so much controversy revolving around him did seem ridiculous and I couldn't help the smirk that made an appearance on my face. Good thing the Justiciar couldn't see it because he was already flustered over the interruption.  
"You know very well why," he snapped. "You, an Altmer, have committed crimes against your own kind. You are a traitor!"  
"A traitor?" Dibella repeated.  
She rubbed her chin.  
"You are to return to the homeland for your death."  
I could sense Dibella's powers. The force of it damn near knocked me over.  
"No, I do not think I will," she said. "For my place of birth does not define me but the place I have chosen to call home."  
She smiled, a false front giving the fury I could taste in her power.  
"I serve the people of Skyrim and I married a man who could not be more connected to this land," she went on. "Skyrim is my home and my crimes are not acts of treason but rather me serving my country."  
"He'll never understand," I remarked. "The Thalmor have always proved to be rather dim."  
"Then I guess we'll just have to solve that," Dibella sighed.  
"Don't act like you weren't anticipating it."  
"Certainly not as much as you were," was her retort.  
She was right. I moved with speed earned from Coldharbour and all its monsters, my blade, an acquired one slipped from Lilith's display case, slicing through the Justiciar's neck. I caught the paper he'd held in his hands, the one ordering Lilith's capture and return to the Isles. It was most likely one of many but I was not seeking to eliminate it so much as I was making a statement. Before the shocked army, I stabbed my sword into the body of their messenger and tore the paper into little pieces before dropping them into the harsh breeze.  
"Well?" I said. "Fight me."


	20. Tiber

(General)  
Screams echoed off the stone walls, contained and hidden from the army outside by the howling winds. Farkas flinched as Lilith squeezed on his hand again, this time bringing him to his knees. He didn't complain though. The door opened again and he glanced up, relieved to see Brynjolf, yet again, as the thief scampered in, bringing more water.  
"Arch-Mage, I have to cut you," informed the Dunmer apprentice Brelyna.  
She looked terrified of doing anything further to Lilith who was barely lucid. Brelyna ducked back down, drawing yet another inhuman screech from Lilith. Farkas tried to soothe her but was unable. He'd never been present for a birth.  
"Be careful," Brynjolf said, swooping in and crouching next to Brelyna. "If the baby's close, you might nick him with the dagger."  
He glanced upwards at Farkas before tossing him a damp rag.  
"Use that to wipe her sweat," he instructed. "It should keep her from catching too bad a chill."  
That was all he said as he turned back to Brelyna to instruct her further. Farkas, meanwhile, obeyed the thief who was strangely knowledgeable about birthings.  
"How does it look out there," Brynjolf called to the Nord apprentice who'd been ordered to stay behind.  
He was a just in case. Just in case the Thalmor not only broke through the barrier Dibella had constructed but through the magickally charged college professors. And Syra. Farkas kept expecting to see a dragon and was growing increasingly worried when he didn't. Another screech from Lilith brought him back to the situation at hand and he grunted as she crushed his hand again. He bit down on his lip to keep from crying out, to keep from making her feel bad that she was causing him pain when he knew she was feeling more than he. He looked at her, his blood running cold when he saw that her eyes had rolled back in her head.  
"Far...kas," she panted, clearly trying to catch her breath.  
"Yes?"  
"Need...bella," she gasped.  
Farkas glanced at Brynjolf, the only one not in some way attached to Lilith. The thief nodded his way before rising and running at top speed, the very thing he'd been doing since Lilith had gone into labor.

 

Brynjolf may have been a Nord but the second that ice cold air touched his skin, he stumbled. Lilith's room was a furnace compared to what he was facing. The air wasn't all that had his hair raised. The taste of magick was in the air, his sense of discomfort surfacing. Magick was not his strong suit and like his forefathers before him, the idea of someone using it made him uncomfortable. Still, he pressed on, coming to the gates. He peered out at the chaos, watching what he could see of the College mages fight alongside what looked like another Lilith. But he could not see Syra and that worried him. No! He shook himself. She'd said it very clearly. She didn't need him. She didn't need to be worried about. His main concern was that the Thalmor would make it through those gates. If they did, they'd kill everyone here, including himself, and most likely burn the place to the ground to ensure there were no survivors. He knew how they worked.  
"Lilith!" he yelled, not wanting to give away the identity of the Divine.  
She glanced his way, smiling, looking unaffected by the strain she had to be under. He'd seen plenty of mages loaded down with potions to restore their power when they needed them. She yelled something to one of the older mages and then backed away, approaching the gates. He, meanwhile, tried to open them but found he could not.  
"How many I help you," she asked in that sultry purr of hers.  
He tried to ignore the way it danced against his skin. He needed to remain focus.  
"Lilith has need of you," he informed her.  
Her eyes went skyward, as if she sensed something despite the power charged air around them.  
"Yes, it is time," she agreed.  
She looked at the battle at hand, at the mages that were still fighting.  
"This will only take a second," she said to herself.  
She extended a hand, her eyes glowing with an unnatural light. Something changed, the mages backing away from whatever invisible shield kept the Thalmor at bay.  
"What's going on?" Brynjolf asked, stepping back just in time to avoid being hit by the swinging doors of the gate.  
Dibella strode through, calmly.  
"In order to perform the ritual, I need all of my magic. Which means the shield will either fall or falter," she explained.  
"And they'll get in," Brynjolf realized.  
He kept up with Dibella as she walked on.  
"I'll admit, it would be unfortunate to lose any mages. This bunch is very talented," she admitted. "But there is a way down this mountain."  
"Do they know?"  
"They do but they are loyal to my daughter despite not being appraised of the situation."  
A clatter stole Brynjolf's attention and caught Dibella's. As if he wasn't cold enough, he could feel the blood inside chill at the sight of Syra face down in the snow, her sword next to her.  
"Is she-" he began.  
He couldn't help himself.  
"She's fine," Dibella assured him. "Like I said, she needs to rest."  
She turned away from that and kept walking and Brynjolf was compelled to keep step with her.  
"It will take some time for the shield to fall. By then, the mages can easily clear out of here. And with proper barricading, my family and I can be cozily sequestered in the Arch Mages quarters. It will be very easy to transport us somewhere safe."  
"Why are you telling me all this?"  
"Because I'm leaving you in charge of the Dragonborn," Dibella said. "And you need to be appraised of the situation so that you may choose the best course of action.  
Brynjolf stopped, watching her go before returning his attention to Syra. She was still face down in the snow and the mages were giving her a wide berth. Undeterred. Brynjolf approached.  
"Alive, lass?" he asked, tapping her head with the toe of his boot gently.  
She grunted and he crouched down, grabbing hold of her hood and lifting her face from the snow. Blood covered her face.  
"You claim to not need me but you make messes like a child."  
"Shut up," she snapped.  
With probably stray scraps of her energy, she slapped his hand away, getting to her feet. She then glanced back at the Thalmor that were still trying to get through the shield.  
"I heard Dibella say it won't last," she remarked.  
Her attention went to the mages, who, exhausted though they were, were huddled and clearly planning their own escape. No doubt they'd heard what Dibella had said as well. Syra brushed past him, albeit slower than she probably intended to.  
"Where are you going?" he demanded, following her.  
After all, a Divine had charged him with her care.  
"To Lilith," Syra replied.  
"You're dead on your feet," Brynjolf accused.  
"Then you'll just have to keep me alive."  
Her tone was clipped, the only sign of how truly exhausted she had to be. Brynjolf crossed his arms but followed in her wake. A wave of heat greeted them as soon as they entered the college. Syra took it in stride, removing her many layers, revealing the fancy dress beneath.  
"Not a word," she hissed, continuing on after kicking the pile of clothes away.  
"You order me around a lot," Brynjolf observed. "If I was petty, I might just up and vanish and let Nocturnal do what she wants to you."  
Syra tried not to react but he saw her tense.  
"You don't have to push everyone away," he went on. "You can have friends."  
"Enough," Syra said.  
She stopped and faced him.  
"Dibella told me the real reason Nocturnal wants you back," she informed him.  
"But you won't tell me," he guessed and she nodded.  
"All I want is for the Divine and the Daedra to leave me alone," Syra went on. "I'm so tired of it all. Of them and how powerless I am. You felt that power out there. All of that was Dibella and the backlash I've been enduring is like being set on fire. And when Talos forced his power on me, I felt like something was trying to claw its way out. And its not just the physical pain because even that pales in comparison to Molag Bal. Since I got to Skyrim, since he released me on a whim, he has taunted me almost nonstop with sending me back. And I can't go back. I can't go back to Coldharbour. Because he will let me out in another hundred and some years and I'll have to start all over again and these higher beings will still be here, still pulling my strings."  
Brynjolf didn't know how to respond. He'd never heard her speak so much at once and he was unused to the level of openness she was expressing. She ran a hand through her hair.  
"And...Lilith, with this baby, she'll be too busy to actively and freely pursue me. I can vanish. And you. I don't want anything to do with anyone so closely associated with Them," she added. "So, yes, I do have to push everyone away."  
With that, she turned away and kept going. Silently, Brynjolf followed, his mind whirling with her words. In that mindset, they entered Lilith's quarters where Dibella stood, her eyes aglow, over her daughter. Lilith's body was actually glowing. The apprentices were gone, most likely to grab their belongings and escape.  
"My daughter, are you ready?" Dibella inquired.  
She no longer looked like Lilith, instead taking on the form of a woman, Nordic it appeared, with pure white hair that curled around her shoulders. She brushed her fingers across Lilith's forehead.  
"Do it," Lilith said, opening her own pale violet eyes. "The mages have made it to the tunnels."  
Dibella looked to the doors and with some prodding on a more mystical level, anything not nailed down slid from its place, converging on the doors. Her gaze next fell on Syra.  
"Be warned, this is going to be a mix of Divine and Daedric magick. Brace yourself."  
Syra crossed her arms in response. Dibella returned her attention to Lilith.  
"Remember not to fight," she instructed, resting her palms on Lilith's stomach. "The gem inside you should keep you safe."  
Lilith nodded, the only signal Dibella needed. She started chanting, her words a language even Brynjolf didn't know. But it was oddly soothing. At least to him. He felt the exact moment the power shifted, the change brushing over him like he was a mere rock in its path. But he knew it lingered on Syra, swirling around her. She remained composed but he saw her tremble more than once. Dibella chanted harder, as if she was fighting to keep its attention. Lilith cried out, whether from the magic or the fact that she was in labor was unclear. But she closed her eyes again. The first thump at the door, though, that opened them again and in their depths there was fear.  
"Thalmor," she gasped, taking hold of Dibella's wrist.  
"I know."  
Dibella was trying harder to draw the power away from Syra.  
"Go," Syra hissed at it.  
For just a second, she seemed to flicker, but only a second and then the power left her and she sagged a bit but stayed on her feet. The power flowed on, seeping into Lilith. She cried out and Dibella wasted no time, power seeping from her body into Lilith.  
"Fight, my daughter!" she urged.  
Lilith wanted to scream that she was but her insides felt like they were being torn apart. She bit back a scream, not wanting to agitate the Thalmor outside her door. She knew how they worked. They'd most likely dispatched small cells to find an alternate way into the room. It made Lilith almost want to smile. She would have if the sheer power of a Daedric Prince hadn't been combating the sealing powers of a Divine being. Dibella smirked.  
"He's alot stronger than he was in the beginning," she remarked softly. "Freedom did wonders for him."  
Lilith almost throttled her, right then and there. She did not have time for her mother's quips nor did she have the patience. A calloused hand curled around hers and Lilith, shocked, looked up into Syra's eyes.  
"You heard her," Syra said. "Fight."  
Lilith squeezed her hand, a new confidence surging in her. That was when a contraction hit her, stronger than the already painful ones that were racking her body.  
"Baby!" Brynjolf alerted them.  
He was in motion before the rest of them, his hand seizing the blankets that had been brought. Lilith's grip tightened on Syra's hand as her body instinctively tried to dispel this baby from her body while working to keep the warring magics inside her body.  
"Lilith, he's coming," Brynjolf informed her.  
She was faintly aware of the thief between her legs but she had more important things to worry about. The magic was overwhelming her senses.  
"Lilith!" Dibella said, her voice sounding far away.  
By the Nine, was she dying? She sought some sort of feeling, some hint that she was still one with her body. Had Akatosh discovered their plan? Was he going to intervene? Would he kill her now, before Mara could save them again? Was that now her fate? Now she had a feeling of cold taking over her senses. And with it came fear. She wasn't strong enough.  
"Mother," she tried to cry out.  
Darkness swallowed her feeble words and she searched deeper, feeling for the familiar magical presence of the gem inside her. It was weak. By the Nine, Akatosh had found them out! She looked to Syra again, staring at the Halfling. Those cold eyes were on her face, willing her to fight, to survive.  
"Ba...baby," she whispered. "S...safe."  
Her eyes were fluttering and she knew she was losing consciousness. And that scared her. Faintly, she strained to hear a baby wailing, to hear some sound, something to focus on and she heard none. That was not unexpected. Farkas was by no means her first husband or the first she'd laid with. Her children before had been still born but for some reason she had hoped that this time would be different. And she was sorry for that, sorry she had made silent promises to Farkas she couldn't keep, to her mother, but she didn't have the strength to apologize. Instead, she let her eyes close.

 

(SYRA)  
Lilith's hand went limp in mine, the death grip loosening, allowing blood to return to its natural course. Dibella seemed alert to the change as well, grief taking over her features even as she attended to her daughter, trying to bring her back. But Lilith wasn't dead yet and that was Dibella's mistake. She was trying to save the dead rather than fuel the living.  
'Whichever one of you hears me, I'll do whatever you want. Just save her,' I begged, not caring if it was an opening for Molag Bal.  
He didn't respond. In fact, there was no response. Save for the familiar warmth that curled itself around me, as if it was hugging me from behind. It stayed for the briefest of seconds before merging with my body. I could feel it filling me up, heating me as it traveled through me and into Lilith through the connection made by our touching hands. I squeezed her hand, willing her eyes to open. Willing any change at all really. The air suffocated me in the few seconds that it took for Lilith's fingers to curl around mine and I nearly collapsed in relief as her eyes opened and she stared at me in surprise as strength returned to her. Even Dibella seemed surprised, her face clearly revealing that she too had felt the power.  
"Akatosh," she whispered, her voice just barely a whisper.  
Lilith released me from her gaze, turning to her mother. I slipped my hand free of her grasp, backing away.  
"Lilith."  
Brynjolf stepped up in my place, holding what could only be a baby wrapped in furs. His face was downcast and I knew why without looking at the child. It was unnaturally still and quiet. Lilith looked at the bundle sadly but took him nonetheless.  
"He's a boy," Brynjolf informed her, not knowing what else to say it seemed.  
Lilith only nodded before looking down at the bundle. The baby in her arm had death's taint on its skin.  
"Hello," she whispered to him nonetheless. “I am your mother.”  
She said those words as if that simple fact was responsible for his death. Farkas was a silent statue. His face was twisted, his mind no doubt torn. He longed to be there for Lilith but needed a few moments in his own grief. They needed to mourn but there was no time..  
"I hate to break this up but the Thalmor are still out there," I pointed out.  
"She's right," Dibella agreed, sounding just as hesitant as I.  
Her eyes had fallen on the door.  
"They're too quiet out there," she decided.  
"Most likely they're seeking a different way in," Brynjolf remarked.  
Lilith snuggled her son against her, closing her eyes as she undoubtedly breathed in his scent. If he had one.  
"Syra," she said.  
I faced her, surprised by the resolve on her face. She had to have been beyond exhausted and yet she looked like she was ready to fight another war.  
"Yes?"  
"This is my son," she began, as if now was the time or the place. “Dead or alive.  
I tried to hide the confusion from my face as I sought her motive.  
"His name is Tiber," Lilith went on. "And he deserves to be buried right.”  
Her voice was breaking as she clutched her little fur clad baby tighter. Farkas seemed to catch on, his jaw shaking a bit.  
"I need you to take him to safety and lay him to rest," Lilith finished, her lip quivering.  
"Are you out of your mind!" I practically yelled.  
"Look at yourself!" Lilith snapped. "Whatever you gave me, it took a lot out of you!"  
She held Tiber out, tears streaming down her face.  
"Please," she begged. "Between you and Brynjolf, the two of you are sneaky enough to get out of here undetected."  
"And what about you?" I demanded.  
I noticed Brynjolf was staying silent. Wise choice.  
"I'm going to stay behind and fight," Lilith said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
"Lilith," I objected.  
Or began to.  
"As long as I'm alive and the Thalmor have power in these lands, I will be hunted by them," Lilith said. "No one is hunting you. I'm certain no one who'd have a reason to has ever seen your face."  
She had a point. My cowl had always been my best friend. Slowly, I stepped forward, taking the bundle from her arms. As I settled him against my body, I was struck by how innocent his face was, something even the children of Skyrim lacked having grown under such harsh conditions. Something I had never had, growing up as the child of two assassins. He looked at peace as well, as if his death was no surprise. He would have lived as a Halfling, a mix of Man and Mer, like I was. And, like Dyre, he looked more Nord.  
"Lass."  
Brynjolf's hand was a much needed weight on my shoulder. I looked his way, meeting his eyes. Reflected in them, I could see the tears that streamed down my face. He smiled gently, wiping them away.  
"Let's go while its still quiet," he advised.  
Lilith was getting out of bed with Dibella's help, both clearly not making a big deal of the tears I was shedding. But Farkas, he was looking straight at me.  
"Stay safe," he instructed with the protective air I had grown use to him radiating.  
"Stay alive," I ordered of them both.  
Brynjolf was headed for the door but I was still not convinced that the silence wasn't a trap. We didn't have a choice though. I tightened my grip on Tiber, making sure that he was secure against me as I followed after Brynjolf. He opened the door, slowly, revealing an empty hallway. Too easy. I strained to hear any tell tale signs of the invading forces still in the college. Brynjolf was just as alert, walking on the balls of his feet, his hand on a dagger he too had slipped from a case in Lilith's room. Running in here, I'd failed to take note of my surroundings and now, for two people so skilled in the art of stealth, we were moving too fast and too blind. Even still, we got outside with ease. The courtyard was another story. The doors creaked open, alerting the gathered Thalmor. And this time, there was no paper waving. They did what I had demanded. They fought, justiciars throwing magic our way. Brynjolf grabbed my arm, yanking me along behind him as he ran and I held tight to Tiber. It seemed wrong, dead or not, to drop him or cause any harm to come to him irregardless of the chaotic explosions of spells just barely missing us. I caught the briefest glimpse of the gate as we ran through it, the enchanted doors swinging closed behind us, locking the Thalmor in. Good. Less opposition. That still left us with the ones who were alerted to two fugitives running down the bridge while their comrades tried to pursue.  
"You're going to need a lot more than a dagger," I remarked as Brynjolf wielded his.  
He didn't turn but he looked my way.  
"Lass, I'll keep you safe," he said. "I know that that is the last thing you want to hear from me but I need you to trust me."  
"I do," I admitted.  
I looked down at Tiber. He didn't have the chance to live. He should at least have the chance to be buried in peace.  
"But we don't have time," I said.  
"Lass, what are you planning?" he asked, right as a bolt of lightning zipped past his head.  
"Take him!" I ordered, handing Tiber to Brynjolf.  
It surprised him and he dropped his dagger to comply. As soon as my hands were free, I grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him over the side with me.  
"Lass, have you lost your mind?" Brynjolf yelled, his voice lost to the wind.  
I heard him nevertheless. But I had to focus, had to find that part of my mind that I knew was both feral and always craving dominance. And when I touched it, it felt wrong, different then the other times I had tapped into it. Regardless, I seized hold of it, allowing it to take over. And it hurt. My body felt like it was being torn apart, the very flesh I wore being shredded by unseen claws. Even as my vision threatened to blacken, I fought against it, frustrations mounting. The sea was getting closer and all I could think about was Tiber, a newborn brought into this world mere minutes ago. A newborn who never had a chance. Whose parents couldn't even bury him right because of something his mother had done. For me. It was my fault. I screamed, in anger, in pain, just screamed at the unfairity of it all as I forced my body into that unnatural shape. As soon as I felt the air gathering beneath me, I knew I had succeeded. And I banked upwards, to get my bearings, before pointing myself towards Brynjolf who was still falling. For that split second, when my eyes fell on him, some part of my mind screamed at me to open my jaws and let a wave of fire engulf him and I could feel the fire building in my throat. I was forgetting myself, losing myself to the coldblooded reptilian that was Nithhogr.  
"Lass!"  
Brynjolf's voice was there, barely breaking the surface of the animalistic savagery that contained my mental state. I could hear him, could feel panic that he was about to become nothing more than a charred corpse and I fought. Of us all, Brynjolf was the only one here by choice, the only one risking his neck and earning nothing. And that was unacceptable.  
"Listen and listen well," I ordered of the dragon. "We have to keep him safe."  
I let as much ferocity as I could enter my voice. And she, Nithhogr, responded, as if it was that easy to convince a dragon to change their mind. The fire was extinguished and I folded my wings closer to my body, cutting through the air faster and narrowly managing to catch Brynjolf on my back. He landed with a thump, probably sore. But alive. My wings snapped to life, lifting us into the air. I could feel the Thalmor throwing spells my way but I ignored them. They were as insignificant as bug bites anyway. My one goal was getting far enough away that I could land without having to worry about the Thalmor swarming us. As I flew over the city, though, I heard the explosion and had to glance back, only to see the College of Winterhold. As it went up in smoke.


	21. Aftermath

(General)  
"What do you think made him change his mind?" Vex asked.  
She swung off her horse as Delvin climbed down from the wagon. A wagon they'd only brought at Brynjolf's request. So where the hell was the bloody fool?  
"You're sure this is Wayward Pass?" Vex demanded.  
"Are you doubtin' my ability to read a map?" Delvin demanded.  
"I can hear you two bickering from out here," Brynjolf's voice interrupted before Vex could retort.  
He stepped from the ominous pass, the look of exhaustion clear on his face.  
"What happened to you?" Delvin gasped.  
"Long story short?" Brynjolf replied. "The Thalmor attacked the College. They killed the Arch-Mage."  
"No way, impossible," Vex declared. "I've seen her magic. She can handle the Thalmor no problem. And on her own turf-"  
"She was in labor," Brynjolf cut in.  
"What about the baby?"  
Vex's eyes had darkened and she was stiff.  
"Born still. They gave us the body to bury."  
Brynjolf nodded towards the curve of the pass.  
"She's a mess," he explained. "Some Divine must be looking out for us otherwise we never would have gotten this far."  
"Is she okay?" Vex asked.  
"She's exhausted."  
"Hence the wagon," Delvin realized, the pieces fitting together.  
"Where are we taking her?" Vex demanded with a sigh of surrender.  
"Riften. We'll put them up Lilith's old house," Brynjolf said. "For now."  
Vex nodded.  
"I'll go get her," she announced, already starting towards the pass.  
"Brace yourself," Brynjolf warned, not offering anything more.  
Vex ignored his words. Who cared that the girl had dead eyes? She already knew that. Her footsteps crunched along in the snow even as she came around the corner. She should have braced herself. Strands of black hair parted as Syra lifted her head, her eyes almost like a dragon's, glowing an ice blue only made more pronounced by the black bags under her. That wasn't all that had changed on her face. There were dragon scales decorating the entire upper left side of her face. Vex's eyes widened and then she mentally shook herself.  
"Get up," she said in what she assumed was the bossy tone the runts in the guild complained about.  
Syra obeyed, probably too tired to tell her off. Vex undid the braids in that black hair, sweeping the tangled black curtain over the scales.  
"Keep it this way just in case we're stopped," Vex advised, trying to ignore the blood on her hands that was matted in Syra's hair.  
Syra nodded, adjusting her grip on the bundle, no doubt Lilith's still baby, in her arms.  
"Come on. The wagon's here," Vex ordered, turning to go.  
Her eyes briefly flitted to the broken arrows that lay almost buried by snow. She filed it away as something to ask Brynjolf later as she led the assassin to the wagon.

 

(SYRA)  
Whispers. I closed my eyes, trying to block them out. Two months had passed and the destruction of the College was still on everyone's lips. Some rejoiced, having not approved of the College or the mages inside anyway.  
"I hear the Arch-Mage was inside when it exploded."  
I bit my lip, clenching my fists at the grief that flowed in me. I'd tried denying it for so long, the mere chance that Lilith hadn't survived. But it was beginning to look that way. The sudden presence of a hand on my wrist shocked me from my thoughts and I looked into Mercer's angry face, resisting the urge to just punch him.  
"What do you think you're doing?" he growled, yanking me out of my chair.  
The tavern patrons did nothing. They'd gotten use to Mercer's less than gentle fetchings. Only Mjoll the lioness steamed in the corner, knowing who Mercer was as well as what he did. Job wise anyway.  
"You were told not to go outside!" Mercer ranted as he dragged me out.  
"I was," I agreed. "But how else am I suppose to hear the news."  
I yanked free of his grip on the bridge.  
"I'm trapped in the house with those oafs all day and when you or any of your ratway lackeys do come to the house, you're tight lipped about what's going on," I hissed.  
This was not the first time we'd fought in public either. Few could stir the confrontational part of me but Mercer was one. He glared at me. Past touching my wrist, though, he didn't touch me. No one did. Nocturnal, our deal done, had released my memories of my captivity. And I wished she had kept them. Mercer was yelling at me now, which wasn't unusual. But I was cornered and the only thing I could hear was the blood in my ears.  
'Don't panic,' I ordered myself. 'Please, don't panic.'  
Either I'd lash out or I'd pass out, neither of which was acceptable.  
"Mercer!"  
We both jumped, surprised that someone was calling Mercer out. I wasn't surprised to see that it was Brynjolf. There was anger in his eyes as he approached. It was weird to see him in something other than his Guild armor but a relief as well, the plain miner's clothes an indication that he had just gotten back. That luck was smiling on me for his timing. Mercer let out a sigh.  
"Talk some sense into the wench, Brynjolf," Mercer ordered, clearly done with me.  
He stormed away as Brynjolf squared himself in front of me.  
"You alright, lass?" he asked.  
He didn't touch me. He'd learned his lesson, if the scabs decorating his right cheek were any indication. Instead he crossed his arms. A sign I knew meant he had to remind himself of the lesson.  
"Yeah," I said, sitting on the bench that was conveniently placed on the bridge.  
He remained standing, hovering. He'd done a lot of that. Normally, I would have lashed out at this point but I didn't have the energy anymore. I just rubbed the back of my neck.  
"Do you have any news?" I asked.  
He was back working for the Guild by Mercer's grace. Meaning he was Mercer's slave and there was only so much Vex and Delvin could do for him. Mercer was sending him on dangerous jobs that had me worried he wouldn't return. If I had it in me, I would have gone with him. Also, if I wasn't suppose to be dead. Brynjolf sat next to me, careful to keep some space between us. I focused on his hands, admiring the callouses. As well as the healing cut on his palm.  
"I went to Maven," he began. "Been doing some work for her. She's agreed to give me the... Lilith's old place."  
"I can't stand being around Mercer's thugs," I decided.  
"You grew up around assassins," Brynjolf pointed out, playfully. “Thugs should be child's play.”  
"Discreet assassins," I retorted. "They had some standards, some decency.”  
Brynjolf smirked.  
"Lass, how are-"  
"Stop asking me that," I snapped.  
The anger welled up inside me fast.  
"My brother raped me. Again Brynjolf. And before, that first damn time, I was just a kid. A weak kid. But this time, I was an assassin, I was a killer. I was stronger. And it didn't fucking matter," I spat.  
I looked at him and from the way he appeared blurry, I knew tears had welled up.  
"I can't hold a knife," I admitted. "I touch one and I can't stop shaking. Because in the end the only one it'll do any good against is myself. And I can't even have that peace. I owe Lilith my life and I won't die with debts unpaid.”  
I turned away from him, covering my face. It had happened, my emotions were back in full. The only relief was that they didn't overwhelm me like before. I could feel sadness without crying. On that note, I closed my eyes, willing the tears away and after a few minutes, I was able to though I sniffled a bit.  
"Lass," he said. "What if Lilith doesn't come back?"  
"She's not dead," I snarled.  
I rose.  
"I need to get back."  
I didn't want to get into this conversation with him again. I was too tired. Too raw. Mercer had done a number on my nerves and Brynjolf, he wasn't helping. He didn't understand. I told myself that as I walked back to Mercer's rat hole. I needed Lilith to be alive. I needed Farkas to be alive as well. They had gone past being friends. They were the closest thing to family that I had in this Oblivion forsaken place. They had to be alive.

 

Constance was just leaving as I was entering Mercer's house. She grinned my way.  
"Syra!" she greeted.  
I tried to look unbothered by her departure. I knew she serviced Mercer's men, could often hear them when I decided to stay. Her arrival initially had been the reason I left and the distraction I needed to do so.  
“Hello, Constance,” I said.  
Trying to sound grateful. I must have because she gave me another smile and then she hurried away, probably to return to the orphanage. I closed the door behind me and hurried inside, narrowly avoiding the cat calls of Mercer's hired help. I ignored them heading straight to my room and closing the double doors. It was the only door with a lock. Yet it was the one thing Mercer had given up without much argument. I didn't question it,even now, clicking the lock in place. As I turned to face the room though, something struck me as odd. My nerves were on edge as I let my eyes scan the room. I took a few steps forward, my body relaxed even though I wanted to tense up and be ready. I didn't keep weapons close on hand anymore. Not because I relied on any of Mercer's thugs but as I'd said to Brynjolf, I just couldn't handle a blade anymore.  
"So, this is what you've done with yourself, Listener?"  
I mentally swore to myself, tensing but hiding it well as I turned, face to face with Astrid.  
"Can I help you?" I snapped, trying to hide the fact that she had indeed gotten the drop on me with hostility.  
My dislike of Astrid hadn't lessened any. It seemed absence did not make the heart go fonder when it came to everyone.  
"We got a contract a few weeks ago. Pays good, everything seems in order. I went to meet the client myself and guess who I came across?" she demanded.  
I said nothing, remaining silent. She didn't care. Her irritation had mounted though her tone remained conversational.  
"The Tong. As in the Morag Tong."  
"Congrats," I spoke up. "Few they hate ever survive an encounter with them."  
Her eyes narrowed.  
"Survived? Ha! Barely. They ambushed me. And then they asked about you."  
I let silence fall between us again, sitting down on the bed. I didn't like that she was hovering above me but I wasn't afraid she'd try to kill me. She wouldn't have told me about the contract if that was her intent.  
"They wanted to know if you were the same Syra and they wanted to know just how you managed to live 200 years without a single mention of you getting back to them. And now, they want you dead."  
"Have you come to kill me?" I asked her.  
She seemed surprised at how I asked and I shot her a smirk.  
"I would welcome it,” I admitted, leaning forward a bit.  
"And why would that be?" Astrid demanded, her surprise and confusion hidden behind her default.  
Anger.  
"I'd have to kill you," I responded.  
Astrid let out an annoyed sigh.  
"Look, I have no intention in taking the Tong's contract. No matter how much coin they offer. But do you know how easy it was to track you down? Go to a face changer or-"  
"No."  
Her eyes bugged, clearly not liking that I'd cut her off.  
"Do you know, I look like my mother. I still have a few features of my father's but mostly, my mother. I won't change it because the Tong wish to collect on a debt owed by a dead man."  
I rose.  
"Where did they ask you to meet them?" I asked. "An inn? A tavern?"  
"The tavern in Winterhold," she informed me. "They were working on some project with the Thalmor deserters."  
My blood ran cold.  
"Don't turn down the contract just yet," I requested. "Just give me some time to figure things out. I promise I'll do anything I can to keep them from getting to you again."  
The words left my mouth and as though the universe was waiting to kick me while I was down, there were the sounds of slamming and yelling from downstairs. Astrid looked panicked, gaze going to the door.  
"What's going on?" she asked, opening the door.  
Right there, an assassin in the Tong armor sliced down one of Mercer's thugs. I'd forgotten his name but he crashed into the room, his dead eyes landing on me.  
"They followed you here," I accused Astrid who had drawn her blade to defend against the assassin.  
"I tried to warn you!" she objected.  
I brushed past her, shutting and locking the door as the assassin thumped against it.  
"We're going to have to fight our way out!" Astrid pointed out.  
I ignored her, knowing her words were probably said in panic.  
"Mercer is paranoid in his line of work, moreso than you are which says something of his guilty conscious," I replied, tapping on the wall.  
A panel swung open, revealing a ladder. Astrid's surprised state continued, a seemingly continuous thing. I had to get her moving.  
"You go first. Its tricky to close it from this side."  
She didn't argue, trusting, foolishly, that I hadn't staged some elaborate plan to trap her. Now came my trust. It had taken alot of convincing for me to let Constance in the house. And just as much for me to be coaxed out of the house when I'd arrived in Riften months ago. I was paranoid that someone see me, recognize me for who I was. And the trouble that had destroyed the College would sweep through Riften. Lilith I knew to expect miracles from. But Brynjolf and the other thieves that I'd formed a tentative bond with, well, they were mere mortals down on their luck.  
"I don't understand," Astrid admitted as I urged her into a jogging pace.  
There was little glamour in the sewers, save for the wonderful feeling of not being gutted by an assassin's knife.  
“You've been hidden, somewhat, for months. In that house?”  
“Yes,” I replied, answers short.  
“How did you stand it?”  
How indeed. Inactivity was not my strong suit.  
"I managed,” was all I said. “Mostly read. Caught up on what history I had missed.”  
Astrid snorted at that.  
"Now I know you were bored. A lot can change in 200 years."  
"Don't I know it," I responded with.  
Our tunnel joined with Mercer's main escape route and after a few minutes, we reached the drop. When I wasn't sneaking off to the inn, I explored the house, creeping through the walls and eavesdropping. Another reason I didn't like Mercer. He liked to talk a lot of rubbish about his peers. I hopped down, landing solidly. I could leap down and climb back up, something only achieved by weeks of training myself. I had tried not to let my upper body and leg strength suffer while I hid. But I wouldn't reveal my comings and goings to Astrid. I knew she'd had dealings with the Guild before and who knows who would tell Mercer I was the one scurrying through his walls.  
"Where are we?" Astrid asked.  
"Mercer is directly connected to the Guild as well as the Ratway," I explained. "He always has access to an escape route. And comrades. Why shouldn't I benefit as well?"

 

(General)  
"Just say it."  
"Say what?" Brynjolf demanded.  
Mercer rose, closing the ledger he'd been bent over, crossing his arms as he faced his fellow thief.  
"You've been standing there, the epitome of disapproval, for the better half of the day. Either spill your guts or take a contract and get out of my face," Mercer ordered.  
He almost laughed, watching Brynjolf try not to snap at him. Finally, he managed to school his features into a perfect mask.  
"I have plans to get Syra out of your house," he said. "I need you to put up with her for a little while longer. And it wouldn't kill you to be a bit more aware of her situation."  
Mercer's lips quirked.  
"Aware of her situation?" he repeated.  
He gave a little chuckle.  
"Bryn."  
Mercer shook his head, trying to hold in his amusement. He had a point to get across after all.  
"Her situation is that she is broken. I've seen dozens of women drift into Riften, the same as her. Beaten down and without a future. And every one has ended up going down the same path," he declared."Even some of their children have followed the path. Your little Halfling is no different and the sooner you realize that, the better. She'll drag you down with her if you're not careful."  
Brynjolf moved without thinking, slamming his fist into Mercer's jaw. The man was off balance and he grabbed the front of Mercer's armor.  
"Take that back!" he snarled.  
Mercer grinned, his teeth stained with blood.  
"Never," he taunted, egging Brynjolf on.  
Brynjolf shoved him away, swinging at him again, ignoring the hands grabbing at him,trying to stop him.  
"Hey!"  
Syra's voice surprised him and he released Mercer, glancing her way. She was crossing the Cistern, probably to knock some sense into him.  
"I agree that Mercer needs some sense knocked into him but really Brynjolf. Are you the best one for the job?" Syra demanded.  
Brynjolf released Mercer, stepping away.  
"I suppose not, lass," he relented.  
Astrid was with her and whatever ease Syra's "joke" had brought to the Cistern went down the pipe. The Guild worked with the Brotherhood, true, but it was never good to see their colors so close to home.  
"Tong assassins attacked the house," Syra announced, seeing him watching Astrid. "She came to warn me they had put a contract out on me."  
"Assassins got in?"  
Mercer was no longer smug. He was the epitome of a raging storm.  
"Killed a few men inside. I don't doubt that they're all dead," Syra admitted.  
Mercer swore, complaining about how hard it would be to find more muscle and that his jaw hurt. Brynjolf ignored him, stepping closer to Syra, not close enough to touch her.  
"Lass, do you want me to get you out of the city?" he asked her in a whisper.  
He had one eye on Astrid who was hovering too close for comfort.  
"I can't leave. If Lilith comes back-"  
"Lilith found you in the embassy," he pointed out. "If she comes back, she'll find you."  
She closed her eyes and he could practically see the internal struggle. He could see her exhaustion. He couldn't push too much, knowing she was close to the edge and if her words earlier had been any indication, she was more than willing to jump. Finally she sighed.  
"You're right,” she admitted. “But the Guild needs you here. And...I also need you.”  
He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes.  
"I seriously advise you to get that stupid grin off your face," she advised.  
"Well, lass, where are we going to put you?" he asked, stepping back just in case she decided to follow through on her unspoken threat.  
"The Ratway," he heard Mercer grumble.  
Brynjolf chose to ignore him.  
"How about Goldenglow?"  
Vex had snuck up behind them, skillfully planting herself between Syra and Astrid. The two women had become something akin to allies while Syra had recovered, a relationship Brynjolf somewhat envied. He hated not being able to be everything for her but he appreciated Vex putting aside any ill feelings she carried.  
"Maven would never go for it," Mercer argued.  
"Its not Maven's decision," Brynjolf declared.  
He was glaring a bit at Vex who smirked at him, bumping Syra with her arm as a subtle offer of comfort. It went unnoticed as attention turned to Brynjolf.  
"What does that mean?" Mercer asked.  
"She had me do a job for her," Brynjolf replied with a sigh. "And I managed to... impress her. So she gave me the deed to the estate."  
"And in one afternoon, he became one of the richest men in Riften," Vex bragged.  
"What job?" Mercer demanded.  
He opened the ledger, where he recorded every request that came across his desk, courtesy of Delvin and Vex.  
"You won't find it. It was a private job," Brynjolf explained. "And I already accepted payment. The land's in my name specifically."  
He could see Mercer wanted to explode. This show of perceived disrespect was only made worse by Astrid's presence. The two weren't just professionals, they were the head of their factions and she had the respect and control Mercer had yet to obtain mostly due to Mercer's chronic lack of caring.  
"It sounds perfect," Syra declared, watching Mercer as well.  
She looked to Brynjolf.  
"What's security look like?"  
"The thugs aren't there anymore," he replied. "Cashed in a favor with an old contact and got some professionals from Chorrol."  
"Perfect," she decided.  
Mercer was getting angrier and angrier, stewing in the rage. He wouldn't make a scene, not with Astrid right there. He had to uphold the reputation of their association after all. Syra turned to Astrid.  
"Any chance I can get a loan on Babette?" she inquired. "I need some information."  
Astrid crossed her arms, studying Syra.  
"For anyone else, I'd consider it a job. But since you saved my life back there, Listener," she said, a teasing edge to her voice."I'll head back and send her to the estate."  
"Don't go alone," Syra instructed. "The Tong could be lying in wait for you."  
Angry though he was, Mercer had come to accept that his fury was all but ignored. He sighed.  
"I know a few back roads," he admitted. "I'll map it out for you and send Delvin with you."  
"Already taking a trip down memory lane," Astrid remarked.  
"Whatever," Mercer grumbled. "Let's move people, I'm not getting any younger!"

 

(Syra)  
I liked Goldenglow much better than the shack Mercer called a house. It was bigger for one and the guards Brynjolf's contact had sent were much better than Mercer's thugs.  
"Settled in, lass?" Brynjolf was in the doorway, leaning against it, his arms crossed.  
"Yeah," I said, sitting on the bed`, crossing my legs beneath me. "Why didn't you want Mercer to know you had it?"  
"Its complicated," he replied, his smile dimming.  
"Brynjolf, I turn into a dragon. I steal power from the very beings that look down on us," I argued. "Nothing is complicated."  
He rolled his eyes at my dramatics, grinning.  
"Zeno is the captain of the faction here," he explained. "He's the only Imperial so if you need something, ask him."  
"Where are you going then?" I asked.  
"Windhelm," Brynjolf replied. "I've got a job. Should be back by nightfall tomorrow."  
His grin took on a mischievous touch the likes of which unsettled me.  
"Are you going to be a good lass and wait up for me? Maybe have dinner ready?"  
It was my turn to roll my eyes.  
"I'm not your wife," I pointed out.  
"You could be."  
His words caught me off guard and I turned away so he wouldn't see, fixing my attention on the bed. I took a moment to compose myself but when I looked back, Brynjolf was gone.


	22. Revelations

(Syra)  
She was silent. I never even heard her. Half asleep, I was half listening to the sound of my own breathing, wrapped in my thoughts. It was in that exhale, that extra whisper of air as it shifted, that I felt someone in the room.  
"Hello, Babette," I greeted,sitting up.  
She grinned, her eyes all I could see of her in the dark room.  
"Astrid said you needed me, Listener," she chuckled as she sat in a chair.  
"Have you ever heard of a vampire named Dyre?" I asked without pleasantries.  
He wasn't my brother. Not anymore. He was a monster of the night and I would strike at him first. And to do so meant I needed to move first, to have time on my side.  
"Can't say that I have," Babette admitted. "But I have a slew of contacts just waiting to do my bidding."  
She was excited. The Brotherhood I remember were never one to actively pursue contracts on vampires and werewolves. The risk of infection or worse, digestion, usually had them sneaking the contract to professional vampire hunters. Or the fighters guild. Let them risk their necks, literally. The fact that I had her going after one of her own kind made it that much more exciting and I could see the curiosity in her eyes. Curiosity that would go unsatisfied.  
"Find out what rock he's hiding under," I instructed. "And report back to me."  
"That's all you wanted me for?" Babette asked.  
"Babette, you are the only one I trust with this and the only one that can move amongst the vampires without arousing suspicion. Do this for me and I will owe you," I swore. "Anything you want and its yours."  
Her smile glinted in the dark.  
"Your blood," she said. "I want a goblet full of it."  
My eyes narrowed and I was unsure if she could see the confusion on my face but if she could she didn't seem to care.  
"Deal," I agreed.  
Her smile grew and I heard her rise.  
"Well then, I'll get right on that," she decided.  
I'd seen vampires move, I knew they were fast, but Babette was faster than I imagined. Perhaps she was a fan of instant gratification.

 

(General)  
He knew she'd be mad at him for once again taking her horse. The damn creature was an excellent tracker, given that he had made his way to Riften without a rider. He didn't question it, urging the horse through the marshy lands. The abandoned cabin came into sight then, courtesy of the Brotherhood. The key was on a cord around his neck and he could see the shadowy outline of his contact as he got closer.  
"Evil looking mount there, friend," mused Rossara, lowering her hood.  
Brynjolf swung off, landing solidly.  
"He's more of a loan," Brynjolf admitted, brandishing the key.  
Smiling coyly, she pushed open the door, swinging a lock pick around her fingers. The only salute to her skills that she would make.  
"I'm so proud, he chuckled as they went in. "So, what do you know?"  
"I've been in Winterhold for a few months. The Thalmor don't know anything about the Arch-mage."  
Brynjolf swore, slumping against the door.  
'Come on Lilith. Make it easier for me, love.'  
"But," she continued.  
Brynjolf had never loved the word so much.  
" I paid a visit to that wizard living in the inn. He did some weird... magic tracer thingy. The Arch-mage is no longer in Skyrim."  
That certainly narrowed it down to where she could be.  
"Know that island just off the coast? Solstheim?" Rossara asked. "His spell pointed there."

 

(Syra)  
"Ma'am."  
The greeting surprised me and I turned, face to face with one of Brynjolf's guards. I studied him, his helmet not blocking out his features. He was grizzled, that was certain, but I could see the Imperial in him.  
"You don't have to address me as that," I said in response to his greeting, returning to my attempts to patch a hole in a pair of pants I'd found in a chest. I was getting tired of dresses. The fact that it was a locked chest would go unsaid.  
"I do, ma'am. I was raised right and served in the Emperor's private guard," he informed me. "I know how to address the man of the house and the lady of the house. And you are the only lady on the estate."  
A fact I'd realized and felt uncomfortable with. But I wouldn't let him see that  
"Call me whatever you want," I relented, too tired to argue.  
Babette's visit had left me wired and I hadn't quite achieved that same level of peace and exhaustion, too wrapped in excitement.  
"If you would like, I can have one of my men have a go at your clothes there," he offered. "We've got a few men skilled with the needle."  
I sighed deeply, trying not to snap, the lack of sleep mixed with my frustration at how obviously bad I was at the task at hand.  
"Your name, what is it?" I asked.  
"Zeno," was his reply.  
"No family name? No title?" I pressed.  
"Now that's a story best relayed after a few drinks," he admitted.  
I grunted in response, setting down the pants.  
"I recommend that you don't bother with me," I advised. "I don't know how well you know Brynjolf and his business but I can assure you I am much worse."  
"Be that as it may, you are my charge. My young charge. I bet you're no older than my own daughter," he mused.  
I could feel him studying, his eyes not leery or with ill intent. No, worse. I was under the watchful gaze of a father.  
"19," I informed him, to stop that gaze from seeing too much. "I am 19."  
I would not bore him with the details of my imprisonment in Coldharbour. Not counting those 200 years, I was 19. I heard Zeno grunt in response, no doubt lost in thoughts of home.  
"If you need anything, be it a properly patched pair of pants or merely an ear to listen, I offer my services."  
I didn't say anything, acting like I hadn't heard. And Zeno didn't push. His footsteps were heavy as he walked away.

 

(General)  
She didn't much like being dragged to Windhelm. The cities, the big ones with walls that wrapped tightly around them were suffocating. Send her to Winterhold or Morthal and she was perfectly fine. But Solitude, Windhelm, places where escape was cut down to two ways out and she almost lost her mind. Especially since she wasn't fond of the cramped holes said cities called a sewer. It was one of the reasons she wasn't a full fledged member of the Thieves Guild. The potential to be trapped. She couldn't handle walls, restraints, never had been able to.  
"Relax,lass," Brynjolf cooed.  
No doubt, the closer the horse approached Windhelm, her grip around his waist tightened. She'd done nothing wrong, wasn't wanted in any of the cities. But just seeing the large wall of stone had her losing her mind.  
"You can always stay with the horse," Brynjolf offered.  
"You swear you're only going to inquire about the price?" Rossara checked.  
She knew his tendency to be impulsive.  
"I solemnly swear not to board any ships without you accompanying me," he said, pulling the horse to a stop and looking at her.  
Rossara rolled her eyes as he swung off, landing on the balls of his feet.  
"You're going above what is necessary for this girl," Rossara pointed out.  
Brynjolf grinned at her.  
"Let's just say I've set my sights on a different prize," he replied.  
"Wait. What prize?" Rossara asked.  
"I'll tell you when you're older," he teased, ducking out of the way as she kicked at him.  
The movement as well as Rossara's lack of experience in a saddle, had the horse taking liberties, turning to go and do whatever Oblivion spawned horses did while they waited.  
"I'm 19 you old man!" Rossara snapped, turning in the saddle to yell at him while trying to get the horse under control. "Plenty old enough for you to tell me what it is you've set your sights on."  
"I'll show you when I get it!" he promised, walking away.  
She wouldn't go any closer to the gates and he knew it. Gritting her teeth, she tugged on the reins, forcing the horse to submit to her guidance despite its reluctance. She didn't handle horses well either.

 

(Syra)  
I knew I was asleep. Probably shouldn't have sat down. I doubted waking up would be easy if the swirling darkness was any indication. Ravens cawed as they swooped low, their feathers brushing my face as they dived close. They were trying to intimidate me.  
"What do you want now?" I demanded.  
The darkness swirled into Nocturnal, a face I wished to never see again.  
"The glare is not necessary," she said, her towering illusion fading, leaving her at a fairly normal height.  
She seemed to make a point of remaining taller than me so as to still look down.  
"I have seen your pain and have kept my distance. Our business-"  
"Is done," I snapped. "I want nothing more from you. I don't want to cure Dyre nor do I want to know the cure. I merely want to destroy him. As for Brynjolf, he is back in your fold."  
"And at odds with his Guild Master," she snapped.  
"A fact that I have no control over!" I argued. "You know as well as I that if I leave, he'll go with me and we'll be back at odds!"  
The truth in my words no doubt pained her and she backed off, sighing deeply. I was surprised. It would have been no effort at all for her to smite me in some way, lay a curse upon me or cut my life span in half. And instead, she retreated.  
"I was not honest with you," she admitted after a moment. "As to which particular familial bond awaited you."  
"There was no other but Dyre," I snapped. "No other that it could be. My mother and father both died. I was told-"  
"A lie."  
Nocturnal's eyes rested on me again.  
"She lives though. Your mother."  
I was not ashamed to say that a longing whimper forced its way out of me. I wanted so badly for that to be true but it couldn't be.  
"You said Dyre-" I began.  
"You assumed," she cut in. "And I allowed it. But it seems he could no more let your mother die than you could. She is not lost to my sight, despite being a vampire."  
"Where is she?" I demanded. "And please, the cure!"  
"There is an island, not far from here," she informed me. "She has been kept safe but imprisoned nonetheless by the Tong. They managed to lock and steal her away from Dyre. To go would be dangerous."  
"I am not going to leave her!" I insisted. "If she's alive-"  
"Your mother is a vampire."  
Nocturnal's voice was harsh and angry, no doubt having to do with the shared dislike of vampires that both Divine and Daedra alike shared.  
"She is no more living than a corpse."  
"I can cure her," I hissed. "If you tell me how to do so."  
My voice was low and I was angry. So angry.  
"Grow strong little halfling," Nocturnal ordered. "Or else you will not survive."  
She clearly didn't like my tone if her own was any indication. I would have objected to her dismissal if I'd been given the chance. Instead, her ravens surrounded me, stirring up dark energy until it crashed down on me like a dark wave.

 

"Ma'am!"  
I shot straight up, gasping. Zeno stood over me, looking deeply concerned, moving out of the way so that I had room to breathe.  
"You alright there?" he asked, waving the other man in the room away.  
I nodded though the room was spinning. What had she meant, the wench, by grow strong? Was I not strong enough? Ignoring Zeno and the other man, who were asking me questions that went unheard, I pondered Nocturnal's words further. At the same time though, what had I said to Brynjolf? That I couldn't hold a blade, that I doubted my ability to use one. I doubted my own strength. As impossible as it seemed, I had to utilize that which made me weak. And to do that, I had to confront it.  
"Zeno."  
I let my voice even out, even though I knew I was a mess.  
"I'm fine, I am unharmed. It was merely a bad dream."  
I looked at him, gaze even. He seemed surprised by how calm I was. At least my ability to craft a facade were still firmly in place.  
“I'm going to use Brynjolf's room. No matter what you hear, do not enter the room. Do not let it be known you are outside the room. I am not to be disturbed, not even by Brynjolf himself. Do you understand?"  
I met his eyes, deadly serious. He seemed to sense this, determination crossing his features.  
"You have my word," he assured me, something in his voice summoning the first true shred of trust I'd ever felt for a stranger.  
I knew that with him outside the door, not a thing would enter the room until I said they could.

 

(General)  
His luck had to be running out. He was sequestered as close to the wall as he could, his back to the docks. The mix of Thalmor and Morag Tong was suspicious enough. That the two were in full uniform, in Windhelm, added to suspicious nature of the situation. What was going on?  
"You!"  
Brynjolf tensed but the Tong assassin was addressing one of the dock's man, his gestures indicating that he wanted the man to dock an incoming ship.  
"That's not a registered ship!" the worker insisted. "The Jarl expressly forbid new boats. We're at war here!"  
"Your Jarl," snapped one of the Thalmor. "Has no objections. As for your war, it matters little in the face of what we will do to you if you do not dock that ship."  
The threat was carried on a voice filled with malice and savagery and the worker backed down. Brynjolf backed away, careful to not seem suspicious as he slipped away. Something was going on and he was going to need Rossara.

 

"I'm not going."  
Brynjolf was not surprised by the outright rejection. Some aversion to containment had always hindered her otherwise flawless skills.  
"Ross, I've done hundreds of jobs in the Palace but this one doesn't require fake names and papers. And I don't know if any of my contacts have been compromised."  
"All the more reason why neither of us should go in," Rossara argued.  
"Lass, you've snuck past the best of us. Beaten us to the punch. You're a thief to be reckoned with. And I need that stealth. Something is going on in the city, something none of the Guild's affiliates have reported back to us! There are Tong and Thalmor in there and another ship just came in! Who knows what else they're bringing!" Brynjolf retorted.  
Rossara pouted, clearly displeased.  
"I'm not going through the sewers again. These boots are new."  
"You can always go through the front gates," he suggested.  
"Never let them see you going in or out," Rossara preached.  
She glanced around.  
"The answer won't just fall into your lap," Brynjolf argued.  
She pointed, her finger leading to the horse that waited nearby, watching them. If it was possible for a horse to look suspicious, then he certainly did, his horsey face falling into something of a horse glare when she pointed at him.  
"How the heck is a horse suppose to get you into the city unnoticed? He's covered in Brotherhood war paint besides. The Tong will kill us just for having the horse."  
"No, you idiot, get the horse!" Rossara ordered. "He keeps running away from me. As for how, well, you'll see."

 

(Syra)  
I stared into the flame, alone in the dark room. I had cleared the whole floor, leaving only Zeno to stand guard over the door so I wouldn't be disturbed. As an extra measure, I'd locked the door. Many didn't take too kindly to Daedric worship. I was going a step further... or closer, depending on how one looked at it.  
"Oh, Daedric Prince, hear my words, take my soul and leave my body. Transport me to your realm so I may speak with you, master of domination and spiritual enslavement, Molag Bal."  
I'd lost track of how many times I'd said the chant, one that my mother had used. I did not doubt the Daedric Prince in question had heard me but I had spurned him, becoming Nocturnal's champion, despite the circumstances and he was most likely ignoring my summons. I swallowed my frustrations, closing my eyes. I'd gotten so use to the oppressed energy of Coldharbour and I reached out, calling it to me, shivering when the cold touch spread into my body. It was on a spiritual level but I felt as if I'd been thrown into ice water. The cold stole my breath and as if sensing the cold, something inside me woke up, warming me internally. I suspected it was Nithrogr. She'd become more active inside, her presence, the pieces of her merged with my soul, moving, always submitting to what she perceived was for my benefit. If I was cold, she warmed me. I'd cut my finger once on a broken plate and she'd healed it. As if she was taking care of me. I chose not to worry about it until it became an issue. I was grateful now for the warmth. It empowered me, strengthened my resolve.  
"Oh Daedric Prince, hear my words, take my soul and leave my body. Transport me to your realm so I may speak with you, master of being a baby, Molag Bal."  
The change was instant and fast, as if a cold claw had reached into my body and ripped my soul from my body. Despite the wrenching motion and the rough treatment, I smiled. I knew he couldn't ignore that.  
"Hello again," I greeted as my feet met what passed for ground in his realm.  
I ignored the sound of the sludge mixed with the moans of the slaves as I took a few steps forward. It was the cold of the realm that had stuck with me when I was released. The moans were no different. The misery, the suffering, I'd had to force myself to grow use to it each night when I fell asleep, only for a few hours. I had to stay ahead of the constantly hunting Dremora, sent by Molag Bal as a game for his amusement. In here, the only difference between myself and the Soul Shriven was the fact that I was alive.  
"Caught in a memory?"  
He was subtle in his quest for dominance. He'd yanked me into his realm and given me a few moments alone to let the fear and torment come flooding back. I faced my jailer, his true form shrunken down to a height more befitting a human than the horned monster he truly was.  
"No," I lied.  
Or did I? I wasn't so much caught as merely visiting the memories that still plagued my dreams. He smiled, a cruel smile that promised punishment. No doubt because I'd called him a baby. Princes tended to lean on the petty side. I wouldn't let that worry me.  
"Whatever punishment you decide to bestow upon me, I welcome it. I'm weak, weaker than I've ever been."  
"I sense something inside has been broken," he admitted.  
There was disappointment in his tone.  
"I always desired to break your indomitable will. A shame someone has beaten me to it."  
He drew closer, one hand catching hold of my hair, twisting it and yanking my head back so that he could stare into my eyes.  
"Who was it?" he asked, an eagerness in his voice. "Who was it that finally conquered you and left me the scraps? This mewling creature before me?"  
I said nothing as he traced my neck and jawline with his free hand, his gaze going to some faraway place. I didn't understand his fascination with necks. It was the first thing he'd ever touched when I'd first been thrust into his realm. It was a compulsion perhaps. I'd never bothered to ask. And I wasn't planning to now. But there were consequences for pulling away. I wasn't going to push my luck.  
"Not the thief," he murmured, his first words since he'd gotten his hand on my neck.  
I'd assumed he'd been distracted, not using his infinite knowledge to track my movements. My mistake. His cruel smile was back.  
"You've taken a liking to him," he remarked. "You rarely like anyone."  
I snorted in response. He was not deterred, his gaze on me while his mind went elsewhere. I let it, let him comb through the men who affected my life, positively or otherwise. Farkas, Vilkas, Brynjolf, Bendu, Dyre, everyone who'd ever graced it, who'd ever touched me in some way. I didn't try to block any of them. Suddenly, his grip on my throat, which, for a lord of all domination, rape included, had been surprisingly gentle, tightened. He was choking me now as rage burned in his eyes.  
"Dyre," he purred in his rage. "That little runt."  
He released my throat, tossing me aside by my hair. Despite only being here in spirit, I still felt the pain as I hit the ground. Molag Bal was speaking to himself, his tone angry. I didn't move, knowing it was best not to when he got like this. His gaze snapped to me.  
"Are you going to just remain on the ground?" he demanded. "I will not allow your will to be broken by the weakest of my flock!"  
"Your flock?" I repeated.  
He'd already set his eyes on me so I rose. This time, I wasn't letting him anywhere near me. The realization hit me then. His flock. Vampires. I stared at him.  
"It was you. You made him a vampire," I accused.  
"They do fall under a sort of spiritual enslavement. My pretty little abominations," he bragged, clearly proud of them.  
It explained the pleasure many took in feeding at the neck. A fetish passed down from powerful father to warped child.  
"He was the first of his line. Of course, your father was one of those silly, nameless fools. A pity. Your brother showed so much promise."  
He scoffed.  
"It was not one of my best decisions, letting the little worm become a pure blood. I made his trial much too easy."  
"What trial?" I demanded.  
He was ignoring me, lost in his own musings and I was but a gnat to him.  
"You turning my brother into that... that creature ruined my family. We had a chance to bring him home! To save him! He made my mother a vampire! He raped me! And you're telling me that this nightmare is all because of you?"  
"Dyre was the one who killed your father."  
His words were like water on the fire that was my temper. I wanted him to be lying but he was too calm, too expressionless. He knew what those words would do to me. And he would not speak lies when the truth would be so much worse.  
"I've made so few vampires myself," he admitted. "Few catch my attention. I once had a great king kill thousands in my name and then he put his daughter and wife through my ritual. Though I'm sure he believes the reward to be worth the cost. But Dyre, now, it was his rage."  
He pointed at me.  
"As well as what he did to you. The first time, of course."  
"Of course," I said, wanting him to speed up.  
"His rage was all at his father. Your mother, she embraced you two so easily, as mothers tend to do with children. And of course, you were the prodigal daughter. The miracle. A gift brought into this world by the grace of a Divine."  
His tone was unimpressed, bored even.  
"Dyre had to work, in the face of your perfection, but he was never able to achieve that adoration that parents have for their little spawns. Your father was never quite impressed by the mediocrity of your brother. And that became this dark emotion that poisoned him, turning him against your father. You should have seen his face when I gave him the mace, my mace, and ordered him to kill your father. To his credit, the man did not break," Molag admitted.  
This time, his tone said he was impressed.  
"My father rarely went out on jobs," I said. "He was usually at home, handling the contracts that the Night Mother did not hand out. How would Dyre know-"  
A paper, faded and bloodied, appeared in front of me and I caught it on reflex, the blood smeared across it making it hard to tell what it was. What I could see, though, was familiar, burned forever in my memory as the one contract that my father had never come back from. I'd thought it was a result of his age catching up on him as well as the fact that his knee hadn't fully healed from the ill placed arrow that had pierced it. There were a hundred reasons I'd consoled myself with so as not to doubt my father's skill.  
"The contract was a fake, planted by dear, sweet Kaya. You remember her, of course."  
I did. She was someone I'd never forget. She'd taught me a very valuable lesson. Kaya had introduced betrayal and distrust. And the pain that went with the former.  
"Dyre and Kaya killed my father," I said. "And in exchange, you made Dyre a vampire."  
Pieces were falling into places that I didn't like. But this is what I'd come to him for. For him to tell me things I didn't want to hear, to allow the rage to build up so that I could run off that. So that I could separate Dyre's head from his shoulder. I'd only let myself truly break when I had Lilith and my mother back, the latter free of her disease.. And then I'd shatter into so many pieces that I'd never be put back together again. Only then. I had to keep telling myself that.  
"Punish me," I ordered. "So that I can return to Nirn."  
Molag chuckled darkly.  
"Oh, I intend to."  
He moved fast, his hand wrapping around my throat and pulling me close so that our eyes were drilling into each others.  
"There are more things to defile. Do not forget that when I come to claim."  
This time, when he threw me, he did not merely throw me away. No, he threw me straight from Coldharbour, snapping the connection I had found, his realm closing itself off to me. Until he allowed me back in.

 

(General)  
"I have my doubts that this will work," Brynjolf admitted, steadying the horse.  
"So do I," Rossara admitted. "But no one's going to be mindlessly staring at the sky in this weather."  
They'd waited, watching the docks, and camping out amongst the rocks near the stable. It wasn't the best vantage point but it would do. It was dark now and Rossara had finally decided it was time to move, telling him that her plan was to go over the wall.  
"Besides, my arrows are pretty well reinforced, I have the upper body strength to support myself and I'm light," she pointed out.  
It wasn't bragging on her part. Merely stating the facts that put the odds in her favor.  
"Lass, what if you fall?" he asked.  
The snow, he had to admit, had packed itself well against the backside of Windhelm. But he wanted to check to make sure that she was aware that snow was not the best thing to land on. Instead, Rossara ignored him, swinging onto the horse behind him. Rather than settle in, she stood and he had to calm the horse, who took a few alarmed steps. Rossara remained perfectly balanced, aiming her bow. Her arrows were reinforced and as a result, they were heavier and didn't cut through the air as well. The damage they did, though, was worth it. In the blink of an eye, she had aimed and fired, her arrow sliding easily into the stone wall. One more blink and a second was in the wall, closer to the top. A few more shots and she created two footholds that would allow her a safety if she didn't get high enough on a first try.  
"Alright," she said, sliding her bow onto her back. "Let's go."  
Brynjolf decided not to voice his concern. It would fall on deaf ears regardless. Instead, he tugged at the reins, turning the horse around and urging him into a gallop. Yet another perk of the beast. It was fast and didn't take long to reach top speed. He let some distance build between them and the wall before he urged the horse around, running top speed back at the wall. Rossara was clutching on to his armor, her balance still as solid as it had been when she got on.  
"Now!" Rossara ordered and Brynjolf yanked the reins with enough force that the horse skidded to a surprised stop.  
She went flying, her intended plan, as the horse bucked, his flank rising into the air. Brynjolf watched, nervous, as Rossara flew, his heart settling when her hands wrapped firmly around the arrows she'd placed. She wasted no time looking back at him or taking a breath of relief. No, she scrambled upwards, using the arrows as footholds to push herself higher. Her silhouette was the last he saw of her as she stood above the city, drawing and aiming her bow, looking as confident as he was when he was on a job. The sight made him smile. And then, she was gone.


	23. Changing Tides

(General)  
She moved, deathly silent,among the rafters that held the roof up in the Palace of Kings. She,begrudgingly, had to admit that only she could do this. Brynjolf had too much bulk to successfully hide amongst them. Rossara hadn't fully believed Brynjolf when he'd said the Thalmor were in Windhelm. But sure enough,three benches at the long table in the great hall were weighed down with them. As well as with Morag Tong. And observing it all was Ulfric who sat on his throne. Something was off about him but she couldn't place it. She risked it and dropped onto a lower rafter, careful to stay in the shadows. Not even a single lethally trained assassin noticed. She was confident in her abilities but even she knew that the Tong were a whole different level than her. Her thoughts were interrupted as one of the great doors opened, sending her scurrying higher again, in order to be closer to her exit. A woman walked in, her features covered by a mask that resembled what had been described to her as dragon priest masks when she was a child eager for a story. Rossara made a mental note to find out what she looked like later. Now, though, her attention went to the boy who'd walked in with her. He was average height, somewhat scrawny for the Nord features he had. And his eyes were red. More appealing than his features was his armor. Adjusting her stance so that she could study him without getting a crick in her neck,Rossara studied it as he walked beneath her perch. It was obviously light armor, black and red like the Dark Brotherhood's legendary armor. But there was a more blood like parallel. At least in her opinion. More eye catching than the coloring was the crest that was on the right side of the armor. She gulped, recognizing it as the visage of Molag Bal. It drove home the dangerous nature of the situation that that particular Prince was in play.  
"My disciples!"  
The woman raised her hands as she stood at the end of the table. Her companion kept walking, his steps leading him to Ulfric's side. Rossara didn't know which to watch first. She had the feeling they were both equally dangerous.  
"She is here, the final Dragonborn. Returned to us by our master, Molag Bal," boomed the woman. "He has given us the opportunity to rid the world of her at last and allow Alduin to do his will."  
Were they talking about Alduin the World Eater? As if there could be any other. She kicked herself for that question.  
"All our attempts have been for not," grouched one of the Thalmor. "We got lucky with Riften."  
"And we'll continue to be lucky."  
Rossara hadn't heard the doors open again. Which meant that the steadily approaching woman had been lurking in the shadows much like Rossara herself. She'd know the Dark Brotherhood's signature armor anywhere as the hood slipped from the woman's head.  
"Astrid has informed me that she is hiding out at an estate just outside of Riften," the Dunmer woman announced.  
The masked woman looked to the boy beside Ulfric.  
"Well?" she asked.  
The boy grinned.  
"Jarl Ulfric, I believe it is time that we invade Riften," he said. "Don't you agree?"  
Ulfric blinked, as if he was not 100% there.  
"It would be wise," he said, his voice, his whole manner sluggish, as if he was trapped in a dream.  
The masked woman laughed.  
"There you have it, my disciples! It is time we shed our robes of lessers, of thieves and oppressors and put on the cuirass of soldiers! Of conquers! In Alduin's name!"  
In the rafters, Rossara swore. Windhelm was under the control of a cult. And a very dangerous one at that.

 

She'd been silent and pale, leaving Brynjolf's room earlier. He had given her that space, had urged his men away knowing somehow that she'd been through a lot. She needed time alone and he'd more than given it to her. But he drew the line at missing meals and she had neglected breakfast and lunch. She needed some food in her. And that was why he'd taken it upon himself to go in search of Syra. Conveniently enough, she was outside, staring at Riften from where she was perched on one of the lookout towers.  
"You alright?" he called up to her.  
"Fine."  
Her reply was distracted one. She seemed lost to her thoughts.  
"Lost in thought?" Zeno asked, moving towards the steps that would carry him up.  
On his way, he stepped on a sword, one probably pinched from the weapon's rack.  
"I can't hold a sword."  
Syra said it matter of factly.  
"I tried. Before I knew as long as there was a blade in my hand, nothing could hurt me. But a blade did no good when the Thalmor attacked the College," she said. "Blade or no blade, I am weak."  
Zeno stepped over the sword and continued up, joining her.  
"Brynjolf didn't tell me about your situation. He only told me last second that you'd be on the island. If I'd known, I'd have brought more female guards."  
Syra flinched and he knew that she knew what he was hinting at. She'd never admit it aloud.  
"I've seen you flinch whenever one of the men gets too close. Even Bryn, when you two were talking and he made the mistake of getting too close, I saw the subtle flinching," Zeno went on. "And its hot here but you only wear long sleeves. I saw your wrist. Lass, I know what you are hiding."  
She didn't react to his words, her body an unmoving force.  
"You're in a dark place right now. It gets better," he added.  
"How do you know?" she demanded.  
Her voice shook, in anger or pain he couldn't tell.  
"Because I've been in this dark place and it was nothing to escape it. It rolled off me, like nothing. So why is it crippling me like this?"  
"You didn't deal with it then," Zeno replied matter of factly. "You buried it and probably never let yourself think on it. And now that it has happened, now that it is once again fresh in your mind, it is destroying you."  
Syra made a grunting noise.  
"You know an awful lot," she snapped.  
Zeno sighed.  
"My daughter married young. But I approved of her lad. He was strong, a fighter through and through. I didn't now he was using his strength at home, on my daughter."  
Syra had been staring at him and her eyes widened.  
"He drank much of their money and she was too afraid to ask me for help. She became a lady of the night."  
That last part was said with some embarrassment. It never ceased to bother him that his daughter had become one of those women.  
"One night, she ran afoul of some high elves that didn't exactly treat her right," he forced himself to go on. "They destroyed my daughter. She was found in the streets, brought to me."  
Those memories of his daughter, her small body beaten and broken by what those men had done, presented to him. He felt tears well up, a reaction that would never stop so long as he lived. It was something no father should ever have to behold. Especially to their only daughter, their world.  
"Three months, it took her body three months to physically heal, for each bruise to heal, for the internal damage to heal. And two years for her to allow me, her father, to touch her. To hold her when she had night terrors, to change her bandages. Her mother did it all and I was useless. She wouldn't talk to anybody. She sat in her room, in absolute darkness, alone because being around anybody was too traumatic."  
He let his eyes bore into Syra's.  
"She did... did she get better?" Syra asked, gulping.  
"She did," Zeno replied. "I... she came to realize that she had survived, that she was safe. She channeled her feelings into improving her swordsmanship. One of the best the Fighter's Guild has to offer."  
He couldn't help the pride that was in his voice. But he was also saddened by what it had taken for his daughter to get to where she was. It was her burden to bear and she bore it well, if her rejection of her body was anything to go by. She bound her chest, wore her hair short and spoke little in order to not reveal her gentle voice. In truth, he hadn't recognized her the last time he had seen her. But she was smiling, enjoying some fraction of life, no longer afraid of people, no longer afraid of him. It was all he could ask for and he accepted that, albeit heavy heartedly. He heard Syra sigh and she looked away, her eyes again on Riften.  
"We all heal in our own way, in our own time," Zeno said, figuring it was a good idea to leave her alone now. "You have to give yourself a chance to do so though."

 

"Bryn!"  
Rossara leapt down, sliding down the icy slope and landing in a snow pile. Brynjolf hurried over to her, brushing snow off himself. He helped her out of the snow and she could see how eager he was to learn what she'd learned. But she knew they had to move.  
"Come on," she ordered, tugging him towards the horse. He obeyed and as soon as they were on their way, back to Riften, she finally spilled what she knew.  
"Its a cult dedicated to Alduin. She called the Thalmor and Tong disciples. And Ulfric was there too. He was so out of it, like he wasn't completely there," Rossara informed him.  
Brynjolf swore.  
"Not good news," he agreed with her. "They seized control of the city and we didn't hear a word of it."  
"That's not all."  
She hadn't wanted to tell him the last part but she had no choice.  
"One of the Dark Brotherhood was there. It seems that they've thrown their lot in with those loons. Astrid also told them where to find Syra."  
Brynjolf yanked hard on the reins and the horse reared. Rossara grabbed hold of his waist to stay in the saddle until the hooves hit the ground again. The older thief was looking at her, his eyes dead serious.  
"Bryn, we can't cast off from Windhelm," she said. "The only docks left are Solitude and with the war, they check every ship that comes in. The Thalmor, the real Thalmor, are stationed in Solitude right now. And that's on the off chance that those cultists haven't taken over every major Hold."  
"We'll worry about that later," Brynjolf decided. "We need to get back, get Syra moved and we'll go from there."

 

(Syra)  
I couldn't tell where more of my effort was going, into dodging the attacks of Zeno's men or into controlling the waves of panic that, should I submit to them, would cripple me. I rolled to the ground,the wooden sword just barely tapping my shoulder. I didn't give the Redguard behind it a chance to react, leaping to my feet and then onto his shoulders, my legs wrapping around his neck. It was enough that I was touching him, the panic attack fended off by the more immediate danger of being thrown of this mountain of a man as he fought to get free. I could hear the laughs of Zeno's men, those who were watching the scuffle at least. Even I had serious doubts when I'd faced off against Gancolm. He towered over me and most certainly outweighed me, much of his bulk in his shoulders. He packed a mean punch, yes, but he was slow, all that muscle getting in the way while I, a scrawny sapling as he'd called me, was able to keep just out of his reach. Until now, when I was slowly cutting off the air supply, essentially suffocating him into submission with my legs.  
"It'd probably be best for you to give up, Gancolm," Zeno called.  
He'd been patrolling. I knew because I'd seen him circling the estate earlier as I sat on the wooden guard post. It was hard to meet his eye, to know that in such a short time, someone had been able to so easily divulge my secrets, to see what I didn't want anyone else to see. At the same time, it made it easy to tolerate someone else knowing the shameful secret when they figured it out them self. When I didn't have to pour my heart out. It was simply enough to know that someone else knew and they were such a calming presence. Which reminded me that I was becoming more aware of the lack of Brynjolf's presence and his cocky smile.  
"I...give," Gancolm managed to choke out, distracting me from my blasphemous thoughts.  
Unable to tame my triumphant smirk, I loosened my grip on his beefy neck and he dropped to his knees, allowing me to slide off with ease.  
"No hard feelings?" I asked, not really caring what his answer was.  
If he let his pride get in the way, that was his business. But I was just glad for a sparring partner. Or a legion of them since the men weren't hiding their curiosity regarding my fighting skills. Scratch that, their curiosity regarding me as a whole.  
"Ma'am," Zeno said, at my side all of a sudden.  
His presence had his men keeping some distance.  
"You have a visitor. Someone named Nazir," he reported.  
Nazir? I expected Babette but I knew that of the entire Brotherhood, she trusted Nazir as well as an assassin could trust anyone.  
"Thanks," I called over my shoulder as I jogged for the house.  
Nazir had made himself comfortable in the kitchen with a pint of ale, which I didn't find too surprising. "Nazir," I greeted upon entering.  
Our encounters were usually of a more playful nature, what with his attempts at humor. There were more misses than hits. But he didn't even crack a smirk at my arrival.  
"What's wrong?" I asked, instantly suspicious.  
"Look,when I threw my hat in with the Brotherhood, I was there to be an assassin, plain and simple. But Astrid's been listening to Gabriella more and more and its not all for the good of the family."  
"I don't understand."  
His words had me confused. Nazir sighed.  
"You're not safe here, I guarantee it. "  
"Nazir, what are you talking about?" I demanded.  
He sighed again, this time in irritation.  
"You're the Dragonborn, some mystical hero that's suppose to defeat Alduin and protect the world. And now, Alduin's got himself a cult following. A few months back, when the Tong started looking for you again, the assassins in question revealed that they'd abandoned the Tong in favor of worshiping Alduin. There were some Thalmor deserters with them as well," Nazir explained. "And Astrid signed us up, all of us."  
"Why would she do that and then come warn me that they were looking for me?" I asked.  
"She probably didn't expect you to get away," he reasoned. "That doesn't mean she'll stop. Gabriella went to Windhelm, to relay a message we got from Astrid. The message that said you were staying here. I was hoping it wasn't true."  
"I can't leave," I insisted.  
"You don't have a choice."  
"Why are you telling me all this?"  
My question threw him off guard and he offered me a smirk.  
"I told you, I joined the Brotherhood to be an assassin, not a disciple. And because I owed Babette a favor. She's already gone underground," Nazir explained. "Which reminds me."  
He brandished a letter from his pocket, holding it out to me. I took it, peeking inside and recognizing Babette's flawless script.  
"That's everything she found out," he informed me. "Good luck. If you come out of this, I would gladly serve with you."  
I said nothing as Nazir left, holding the letter against me as I digested his words. The sound of footsteps coming closer was louder than the sound of footsteps receding.  
"How much did you hear?" I asked Zeno, knowing it was him before he appeared in the doorway.  
"Enough," he admitted. "I think you need to tell Brynjolf. When he gets back."  
I said nothing and he read my silence for what it was.  
"Unless you plan to up and leave before he gets home. It won't keep him safe. It won't keep this place safe. If they come looking for us, they won't want anyone to be able to identify them to the rest of Skyrim."  
"And you're okay with this danger?"  
"Hell no," Zeno said. "Brynjolf better pay me extra. But I don't run from a fight."  
I faced him, smiling just a bit.  
"Me either."

 

(General)  
"Outlander!"  
She sighed. The voice was so annoyingly grating that she wanted nothing more than to ignore it, act like she hadn't heard it and just keep walking. But she knew better and turned, face to face with the bonemold clad guard.  
"Yes?" she asked through gritted teeth.  
"We've got more complaints about that dog of yours," the guard informed her. "Muzzle him, kill him, I don't care. Keep him quiet."  
"He's terribly depressed," she objected, her lavender eyes flashing in her anger. "As well as in pain. Some howling is to be expected."  
"Its an unnerving sound, what with those lurking werebears," the guard retorted.  
"I will try."  
With that, she hurried on her way, her annoyance fueling her footsteps. She tried to walk it off but the distance wasn't great enough and she slammed the door behind her despite herself.  
"Problem?"  
The Dunmer woman that awaited her rose from her chair by the fire, fixing her blue dress. Her movement woke the werewolf that lay at the fire's base, asleep. His tail wagged as she locked the door and joined her companions by the fire, settling on the floor and allowing the large wolf's head to rest in her lap.  
"How was your trip? Did the wizard have anything of value to share?"  
Her voice dripped with the fact that she didn't hold much faith in the wizard.  
"Hekth," she said in warning.  
Those red eyes rolled, dramatically, as she rose.  
"Lilith, I long for nothing more than to venture to Skyrim. Cicero has told me of the state of the Brotherhood."  
"Speaking of Cicero, where might our crazy assassin be?"  
Lilith patted the muzzle in her lap, aware that Hekth was watching her. Then again, Hekth was always watching her.  
" I asked Gjalund. He said Windhelm has closed its docks. We'll have to go to Solitude, the fare will be more and-"  
Hekth sighed, cutting her off.  
"I can see where the problem lies," she admitted. "I know as well the problem of arriving in Solitude with a werewolf aboard. I also know that you will not leave without him."  
"Farkas didn't ask for this!" Lilith hissed.  
"I would never presume he did."  
Hekth's voice was harsh in that instant, the only sign she ever gave when something angered her. And Lilith had been in her mind, knew the circumstances of the elf's vampirism. It had not been her choice nor had the imprisonment with the Tong that had once resided on the island. Once being the operative word. It was not a good idea to trap a vampire in a coffin because once out, they tend to make sure their captors paid dearly.  
"I will wait for tonight and have my own word with Gjalund," Hekth informed her, her voice calmer now.  
She was fiddling with the ring on her finger, a beautiful gold ring with an apparently exquisite sapphire set in it. It was most likely her wedding ring. Whatever it was, Lilith could never read her mind about it.  
"Good luck with that," was all Lilith said, her attention on Farkas.  
She was distantly aware of the woman leaving them alone but Farkas whined and her attention returned to him.  
"I'm sorry, my love," she whispered. "Still no luck contacting mother."  
She knew, though, that her mother could no more affect what Hircine had done as she could.  
"And I can't find Syra. I think we're too far away," Lilith added.  
She knew he understood her but she was unable to read past the beast instinct that sat at the forefront of his mind. No matter. She'd just have to try harder.


	24. Rising Action

(Syra)  
"He's home."  
I didn't look up at Gancolm. I had heard Shadowmere as he arrived.  
"Thank you," I said and he left.  
I stared at my wrists, at the healing scabs. Zeno had said the best armor he could come up with, given the lack of time, supply and my size, was leather. I suppose I could scrounge up coin to order some custom armor if I had the chance.  
"Syra!"  
Brynjolf was like a cyclone, sweeping into the room, a breathless cyclone at that.  
"I've ridden from Falkreath to Windhelm. I know how long that took me on an old mare. Riften is closer, yes," I said. "You better not have run my horse ragged."  
I stood and faced him.  
"I assume that you've heard about the cult," I guessed.  
"Lass, we have to move you," he declared.  
"I'm not going anywhere."  
Something he clearly didn't want to hear.  
"Its not safe!" he insisted.  
"Nowhere is. The Dark Brotherhood is amongst their ranks, some of the deadliest assassins know to the world. As good as I am, I can't beat them all," I threw back. "And it can't just be the Dark Brotherhood."  
Brynjolf froze, taking a breath before he spoke again.  
"What's that mean?"  
"I tried breaking into Mercer's, back when I first started staying with him. Just to make sure I could. I couldn't break through any of his specialized locks. And they're all over the house."  
I threw my arms up in exasperation at the memory before crossing them over my chest. Brynjolf's eyes had followed my movement and I could see his brow furrow in confusion. Did he not know about the locks?  
"And yet, Astrid managed to do just that. And so did the Tong. Almost like they had a key."  
"Mercer wouldn't-"  
"Mercer hates me. He'd do anything to get me out of his house. What better way?"  
Brynjolf's face was stone, as if he didn't want to believe. I didn't blame him. It was one thing to punch your Guild Master for being an ass, what was one punch between friends? But another to accuse him of being part of a cult that worshiped the one dragon prophesied to destroy the entire world.  
"It doesn't matter," Brynjolf declared. "I'm going to keep you alive."  
I pointed at him.  
"I can't figure you out. I mean, Lilith's parents are a Divine and a Daedra, the world's continued existence benefits them, and her helping me, her involving you to save me, it makes sense for her to want me alive. And Farkas, he's with her. Where she goes, he goes. But I can't figure you out. Why have you stuck around? Why have you saved me, over and over again, especially after what I said to you?"  
He didn't look too happy by my line of questioning but I had to know. I started towards him. This was a man with no ties or obligations to me.  
"I don't have a cent to my name. All that was taken when I was held as a Thalmor prisoner."  
I was right in front of him now.  
"Did you want to sleep with me?" I asked.  
"Syra."  
His voice was was deep with anger. Something I didn't think he was possible of and the sheer surfacing of it should have made me back off.  
'Push harder.'  
So, I was shunned from his realm but Molag Bal wasn't one to leave me alone. And in this instance, I wanted to push.  
"Well? Do you?" I asked. "Do you have a thing for broken things?"  
He drew in a deep breath but said nothing. I shoved him back,disgusted, at least I tried to, but he caught my wrist with surprising strength. He yanked me towards him, catching my other wrist.  
"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, trying to break free.  
His eyes were on the scabs, a painful expression replacing the stone quality that he'd worn previously. "Is that how you see yourself? As broken?" he asked. "After all you've been through, you're getting ready to fight rather than run. And you're broken?"  
He shook me a bit.  
"You are anything but broken."  
"What do you want from me?" I demanded again, meeting his eyes.  
Brynjolf said nothing, slowly easing his grip on me. I noticed, though, that he didn't back up. And I wouldn't either.  
"Syra, I-" he began.  
"I hate to interrupt."  
Zeno surprised both of us. He didn't blink at our close proximity though he zeroed in on Brynjolf's hands around my wrists. It was only then I realized it. Brynjolf was touching me and I wasn't reduced to a screeching child. There was some progress.  
"I have informed the Jarl of what's coming," he informed me.  
"Did she take your word?" I asked, pulling out of Brynjolf's grip.  
He let me go, crossing his arms.  
"She didn't have a reason not to," Zeno replied.  
"Someone explain this plan to me," Brynjolf demanded.  
I held up Babette's letter.  
"My contact sent this letter with her messenger. I asked her to look up what she could about Dyre, my...one of the vampire in league with the Thalmor. Its all been lies. The Thalmor embassy, the ones residing there are part of Alduin's cult. That's why they captured me. And the ones who attacked the college? Thalmor cultists. The Tong? They have no idea I'm still alive and they're so far underground that they wouldn't risk exposure going after the Dragonborn."  
"That's the thing, Syra!" Brynjolf was clearly exasperated.  
"No one knows you're the Dragonborn,Syra. No one who would open their mouths about it at least."  
"Except for Dyre."  
I said that quietly but it was enough. Brynjolf backed off a bit.  
"He's always known about my abilities. About what I was," I explained. "He's been in Skyrim awhile. He had to hear the stories, had to put it all together. No doubt this cult is his way of destroying me."  
"What else does the letter say?" Brynjolf asked, choosing not to continue the argument.  
He flopped into a chair, tossing a glance at Zeno, his look one of displeasure as well as a somewhat searching gaze. I'd address that later.  
"Babette did more digging on Dyre, she found out some things. One being that he's a Vampire Lord of the Volkihar Clan. He's known as Harkon's son."  
It was something I couldn't believe. For me, there would never be another Father. He was the one man in my life that had not done me wrong. And Dyre had stepped into the role of this creature's son so easily. He'd killed the man that raised him and that was inexcusable, no matter what mistakes Father had made.  
"In the letter, she says that he's looking for something,investigating some cave near Dawnstar," I went on, waving one of the pages contained in Babette's letter.  
It was a map of said region, a location marked on it.  
"The plan," I said, gesturing at Zeno. "Is to make sure Riften is ready for whatever Dyre may send their way. And I'm going to find this cave."  
"On your own?" Brynjolf asked, clearly not liking this plan.  
“Yep,” I replied.  
He rose from his chair, clearly shocked. I smirked.  
“I have years of training going unseen,” I bragged in the vaguest way possible.  
When,in truth, it was actually centuries.  
"I'm going with you," he declared.  
"Ha!" I sat, copying his earlier show of exasperation.  
“You seem to be forget I'm one of the Guild's best. And more than decent. Saved your well shaped ass, didn't I?”  
I rolled my eyes at his crudeness, trying not to laugh in his face. I did not doubt his skills and didn't want him thinking he had anything to prove. But I didn't want him at risk either. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Zeno snickering, hiding his amusement behind his hand. I looked at him, admittedly puzzled by his reaction.  
“Lass,” he said. “He's going.”  
I looked at Brynjolf. His jaw was set, his entire body ready to move. I had no doubts that he was, even before Zeno had spoken. I sighed.  
“Fine,” I relented. “He can come.”  
Brynjolf didn't relax, still emanating a stubborn boar but he gave a satisfied smirk. I had doubts I'd have ever been able to make him stay in the first place.

 

(General)  
She knew the minute they crossed into Skyrim, knew from the taste of cold in the air and she couldn't help but smile. She'd had many homes in her life, lived in different lands but she'd always loved Skyrim.  
"I'd almost forgotten how cold it was," Hekth remarked.  
Why she wasn't below deck puzzled Lilith but she knew better than to argue with the Dunmer assassin turned vampire. Hekth looked across the sea, her hood securely tucked over her face and eyes.  
"A nice change of pace from that island," she admitted, not for the first time announcing her hatred of the island in general.  
And if it wasn't the island, it was the people, the places or the creatures that inhabited it.  
"I give it a day before you're complaining that its too cold," Lilith chuckled.  
Hekth crossed her arms.  
"I've been alive too long, complaining too long with no one to listen. And Cicero, he's not in a state to listen to me now. His concern is only for the Night Mother."  
"What about Ivana?"  
Lilith had spent months digging into the mysterious girl, reading her thoughts and only catching glimpses of the here and now, as if she never thought of her life before meeting Hekth. She was a Nord, something not common place in Solstheim. She was a mystery and Lilith desperately wanted to solve her.  
"Lilith."  
Hekth's voice was different,as if she was done complaining, since the results were usually amusing and not at all serious. This time, her voice held a note of honesty and sorrow, emotions that Hekth had never displayed. Her red gaze was fixed on the horizon, as if she was looking past it.  
"Yes?"  
Lilith stood, joining Hekth at her side.  
"She is... alright?" Hekth asked. "My daughter?"  
"She was," Lilith admitted. "She was exhausted from fighting but otherwise, she was fine."  
A smile ghosted Hekth's lips.  
"She was always like her father. She preferred a good fight to stealth."  
She gave a small laugh.  
"She's still scrawny, right?" Hekth checked.  
Smiling as well, Lilith nodded.  
"She wanted to start using two handed weapons! I remember one of the Orcs in our fold, he was a master in two handed weapons and combat. Always had his massive battle axe on him. He let her hold it once, when she was being really cocky. She damn near took off Do'asuna's tail," Hekth laughed.  
Lilith could only imagine how well that went over, laughing into her hand. They allowed themselves that small moment before they composed themselves. Hekth gave a longing sigh.  
"When she vanished, when Molag took her as you said he did, I was lost. I'd lost my husband and my son and now my daughter was gone from me. I was so certain she'd been killed, her body hanging from some monster's castle gate as an example to thieves, assassins and his enemies," Hekth confided in Lilith. "Though this alternative, trapped in Coldharbour, it doesn't sound much better."  
"She's haunted by it," Lilith said.  
She wouldn't sugar coat it.  
"I see it in her eyes. But she doesn't, she doesn't let it stop her or hold her back. She's fighting back."  
Hekth had dragged her eyes from the horizon, fixing them on Lilith as she spoke.  
"Lilith, I know my daughter, I know that while she fights and wins, she is very weak in many aspects. One of which is her inability to be a hero," Hekth explained. "I know that your husband's curse and the breaking of it relies on her actions but-"  
"Hekth, no disrespect but you and your daughter have been apart 200 years. And last I saw her, she was doing a pretty good job at being a hero. Don't underestimate her."

 

(Syra)  
"Ugh!"  
Rossara's cry was right in my ear but I couldn't help but smirk.  
"He hit me with his tail again!" she grouched.  
"I heard," was my response.  
I cast a glance at Brynjolf who rode next to us on a borrowed horse from the Riften was trying not to smile, trying to school his features into a blank face. I rolled my eyes at him and he gave me a wink. I guess he was no longer angry at me. I was glad. I didn't care much for apologizing.  
"Horses are gross," Rossara mumbled, not for the first time.  
"I find it hard that you've never been on a horse," I argued. “How do you get anywhere?”  
"Wagons or walking. How else?" Rossara demanded.  
I heard the sound of Shadowmere's skilled tail swatting at her again and she about hissed at him.  
“Why can't you ride back here?” she asked.  
"Because Shadowmere doesn't like having you at the reins."  
And Rossara was terrible with horses. She was too uncertain in the saddle, holding the reins too tight and her nervous energy had unnerved Shadowmere. He was use to confident riders, assassins who knew what he was for, what he was made of. And what they were doing. I'd been hesitant to let her ride with me but Brynjolf's horse didn't have Shadowmere's strength and was unable to carry two riders. . A wagon would have slowed us down. As it was, we made good time, having followed the river from Riften and we were on the outskirts of Whiterun. I was taking pains to avoid Windhelm and any areas surrounding it. Rossara was grumbling to herself, probably cursing my name. Or Shadowmere's. Distracted by the goings ons behind me, I didn't notice Brynjolf draw his mount closer to mine.  
"Lass, really, we should stop at an inn soon. It will do no good to get to the cave and be hindered by saddle exhaustion," he advised. "Besides, Rossara's nerves are frayed as it is."  
"Fine," I sighed. "What do you suggest?"  
"We're near Whiterun. Let's double back. The Guild has a contact there that can put us up for the night."  
I couldn't argue and I really didn't want to. Even I was somewhat tired.  
"Lead the way," was all I said to him.

 

I wouldn't lie. He'd made a good call. The Meadery was warm and clean, under new management if Brynjolf's greeting was any indication. He and the owner were talking excitedly, catching up on old times, I assumed. I chose to pay them no mind as I adjusted the leather armor Zeno had provided. It had been made for someone with a bit more bulk than I but there had been no time to adjust it. Hopefully it held up until we returned to Riften. I worried about the state we'd find it in when we returned though.  
"Here, lass."  
Brynjolf set down a bowl of stew on the table near me.  
"I'm the one who ate today," I argued.  
Brynjolf rolled his eyes, smirking at me.  
"I can eat later," he insisted.  
"Well so can I."  
He let silence fall between us, not bothering to argue with me anymore. I returned to my struggle with my armor.  
"I am perfectly capable of handling myself," Brynjolf said offhandedly.  
He smiled, feigning innocent, when we both knew he was anything but.  
"Oh, bug off," I grumbled, sitting to the table.  
I hid my annoyance behind the stew Brynjolf had bought, knowing there was no real reason to feel this way.  
"Where's Rossara?" I asked.  
"She's outside, probably shooting down mammoths from afar," he replied. "She needs to stretch her legs."  
Or else she really was that object to my company.  
"Why is she coming?" I asked.  
He tried to hide it but I heard him sigh, deeply, as if to avoid fully expressing his annoyance at the doubt I put in others' motives.  
"Her reasons are her own," he settled on.  
I opened my mouth to call him out but he beat me to it.  
"For someone who carries her own secrets all the time, you seem to have a problem when others do the same," Brynjolf remarked.  
"I have no problem with secrets. So long as they don't bite me in the ass," I replied.  
“Rossara's secrets are harmless...in the grand scheme of things.”  
I tried not to show my surprise. Or my disbelief but he saw through me, quirking his brow at me.  
"You doubt me?" he asked.  
"I find it hard that such a dashing rogue would have any grasp of the grand scheme of things ," I explained sarcastically.  
I kicked myself for my word choice when he smiled.  
"You think I'm a dashing rogue?" he teased.  
"Drop it and drop it now before I rip out your tongue," I threatened and he just laughed.  
"Alright," he relented when I shot him a glare. "Tell me this, when we find Lilith, when everyone's safe, what will you do? Still planning to disappear?"  
"Yes," I said without hesitation.  
"And then what?"  
I got the feeling his questions were going to be never ending.  
"What's in the cards for the illustrious Dragonborn? A husband with two kids? A successful business in one of the cities?"  
"Neither. I've never had the charm for mercantile work," I explained, determined not to let him in on the fact that I really didn't have a plan past disappearing.  
"I find you rather charming when you want to be," Brynjolf remarked.  
I made a sound even I didn't know the meaning behind before I stood, surprising him.  
“I'm going to get some sleep,” I informed him.  
Brynjolf made a face, as if he wasn't satisfied by our conversation, looking as though he was going to say more but I walked away before he could utter a word.

 

(General)  
It was hard finding a perch but she managed, balancing precariously, her legs wrapped around the fur tree. She didn't know what was worse. The sticky sap that practically covered her armor or the lingering traces of horse ass. She dreaded riding that accursed horse again. Why couldn't she have ridden with Brynjolf? Her attention was drawn again to the mammoth only a few yards away. If it wandered any further from its giant masters, it would be fair game and she was going to take it down. Its dead carcass would be great bait for the wolf pack she'd scouted out only a few feet away, gnawing on the scrawny bones of an elk. In the face of all that meat, they'd be lured, shot and she'd have enough pelts to tan into leather. She summoned her bow, the magic causing a tingling in her finger tips, briefly, before she sent an arrow right through the mammoth's eye. That was all it took and the creature cried out as it went down, its giant masters raging as they realized their majestic beast had been felled. Smiling, Rossara sheathed her bow and climbed down. As soon as her feet were on the ground, she decided that she preferred the sap to the horse At least the sap came with a prize.

 

"How goes your planning?" she asked, joining Dyre.  
As soon as she entered, the high ranked officers filed out. They weren't as influenced as Ulfric but they knew power when they saw it. It was why they did not object to Dyre's presence any longer. And hers was tolerated.  
"Well," Dyre replied, his red eyes on the map. "I've sent scouts to Riften, to confirm my sister's presence."  
And?" she asked, sensing the annoyance in his tone.  
"Sources say that one of her known companions purchased a horse but they didn't leave from the stables," he shared with her.  
"A male compatriot?"  
She stretched across the map, right under his gaze, furthering his annoyance no doubt as he was forced to place his attention elsewhere.  
"If you must know, yes."  
"Don't worry, dear heart. She'll be yours soon," the priestess assured him. "Molag Bal ruined her life originally. Stripped her of family and friend. He will easily do so again. But if it makes you feel better, when they're found, you can drink the male into death."  
Dyre grinned, revealing the slightest hint of his fangs.  
"Nothing would make me happier."  
"Lord Ulfric!"  
The cry, annoying as it was, allowed them a chance to melt back into their positions. Dyre returned to his place at Ulfric's side, acting as though he was merely an adviser rather than the very puppet master that was leading them to ruin. And she rose from the table, the picture of dedication and advisement as well. The young guard ran into the room, excited but also fearful, a courier on his heels.  
"Well?" demanded the priestess. "What do you want?"  
The guard looked to Ulfric, who's blank look was akin to some expression of stoic waiting.  
"The great dragon Alduin is here," the guard informed him. "He wishes to speak with you. Both of you."  
The priestess nodded, a smile hidden by her mask stretching its way across her face.  
"And you?" she asked the courier, sure nothing could ruin her good mood.  
"I have a letter for you," he informed her. "From someone named Garan Marethi."  
She couldn't help it. She glanced at Dyre, seeking his advice. But he didn't give it, his face more a mask than the one covering her face. So, she would lead from his example. Turning back to her audience, she looked first to the guard.  
"Return to Alduin, tell him I shall be with him soon."  
The guard didn't hesitate. He scampered out, knowing what was coming. It was the fate that had befallen all couriers that entered Windhelm, at least the ones whose deliveries coincided with Alduin's visits. He seemed to sense it, when her attention went to him, that he was going to die. Rather than speak, she took the letter.  
"You have my thanks, dear boy. Tell me, from what village do you hail?" she asked.  
He was scared and she could smell it, the musk of it fresh in her nose and coating her tongue.  
"I-Ivarstead," he replied, voice shaking. "Why do you want to know?"  
She grinned, leaning forward, voice low and husky.  
"So I know where to send your body."  
As she predicted, the courier ran. Or tried to. She didn't go after him, letting Dyre move, let him stretch his muscles as he lunged on the courier, his fangs ripping into the flesh of the courier's throat.  
"Oh Jorleif!" she called. "We've got another one!"

 

He knew it. She was avoiding him, tucked away in the private bedroom, sitting on the floor, her back against the bed. Her eyes were closed and he wondered just how aware she was as he sat next to her.  
"I'm not in the mood," she groaned.  
Ah, one question answered.  
"Then its a good thing I didn't come here for sex," he replied, his joke delivered in a serious manner.  
She sighed, her eyes opening.  
"What do you want?"  
"I don't want you to disappear," he admitted.  
The time to tease her had ended. She was exhausted, emotionally at least.  
"Brynjolf," she sighed.  
"I don't know why I'm helping you," he hurriedly said. "I don't know why I stuck around. In all honesty, I was content flirting with you and when I first saw you, yes, I wanted nothing more than to get you into my bed."  
He looked her in the eye when he said that, seeing a flash of anger in them.  
"And then, Lilith sent me to save you and when I found you, like that."  
He trailed off because she'd looked away from him, clearly trying to remain in control of whatever feelings those memories stirred up.  
"I stopped thinking that way. It felt wrong just to admire your body. I felt guilty and I felt as though I needed to... repent for thinking like that," he went on quickly. "I needed to make it up to you."  
"You stuck around because you pitied me," she accused.  
"Yes, at first."  
She made a sound of disgust and started to get up but Brynjolf caught her arm, holding her in place.  
"La-Syra, only at first. My desire to protect you, the reason behind it changed."  
She yanked out of his grasp and he scrambled to his feet as she squared off with him.  
"I don't need pity!" she hissed, absolute hatred in her eyes. "I don't even need you."  
Lurking behind that hate, there was hurt as well. Brynjolf stepped closer, catching her by the shoulders and pulling her, unwillingly, into his arms, pressing his lips to hers. It wasn't romantic or smooth, as was his usual style. It was just a bit desperate but he saw no shame in that. He was in a desperate position. His hold was loose and she could have broken it easily but she didn't. Instead, she froze and he prepared himself for an inevitable knee to the jewels. Instead, she relaxed, just for a second. And then realization hit her and she pulled back and he let her go, backing up as well so that she wouldn't feel caged in. Those blue eyes stared at him in shock and he couldn't help but smile.  
"Syra, I-"  
"No."  
There was pain in her voice and fear. She stared him down, shaking ever so slightly.  
"Don't say that," she ordered. "Don't say anything like that."  
She reached out, grabbing at the wall.  
"Please," she begged. "I can't, I can't, I can't love anyone. Never again."  
"Syra."  
"No! You don't get it. I am forever tied to Coldharbour. I will never be free. Already Molag Bal has orchestrated the destruction of the family I loved. I can't watch him destroy you or anyone else."  
Realization dawned on him.  
"That's why you want to disappear, isn't it? Because its alright if you're alone, so long as no one else gets hurt."  
"Lilith helped me and it led to trouble. She and Farkas are gone, I buried their son. I'm attached, a life is being built for me here. I barely survived the first time I lost everything. I won't make it again," she confided in him.  
Brynjolf caught her wrists, bringing her close again. For someone so object, she came easily enough.  
"I won't say it," he promised. "But I won't let you be alone. So, if you have to disappear, then you best believe I'm going with you. And if you try to leave me, I'll come after you."  
"Molag Bal will-"  
"If he takes you, he'll have to take me too," Brynjolf said. "Because I'm just now getting to see you with your defenses down. And I don't intend for it to be the last time."  
"I really hope defensive down is some clean innuendo," Rossara's voice rang out.  
It was like falling into cold water and Syra drew back, once again breaking from his grip.  
"Ross," he scolded with a sigh.  
"What?" she demanded as he turned to face her.  
She was holding strips of leather in one hand, the other resting on her hip.  
"Last I checked, this was our room. I have a right to be in here, moreso than you do. And if you two intend to sleep together, take it anywhere but here. I've got something to work on."  
"She's right," Syra said. "Besides, I'm tired."  
Brynjolf turned his smile on her.  
"Get some sleep," he instructed before he backed out.  
He didn't miss Rossara's look, a warning for him to be careful as well as that this time, he might be getting a little too close. She was usually right, her instincts sharp for one so young. And Brynjolf usually heeded her warnings. But this wasn't a usual situation. And he chose to ignore it.


	25. Blood Bond

(Syra)  
What was I thinking? I curled into a tighter ball, listening to my own breathing. It calmed me down and I needed it, still reliving just the sheer force of Brynjolf. I lifted my head, looking at Rossara. She was still in the chair by the door, still fiddling with the leather straps she brought into the room, hours before. I sat up, wiping away the sleep in my eyes.  
"How'd you sleep?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the strips.  
"About as well as I can," I admitted.  
I noticed she was wearing new armor.  
"Where'd you get that?"  
"Mallus is a fence and he's affiliated with the Guild."  
My blood ran cold. If I was right, the Guild wasn't exactly on my side. Rossara didn't notice, her attention on the leather.  
"Since he took over the place, he keeps some of his wares in the basement. He noticed that there was sap all over my armor and offered to let me sort through some of it."  
Her eyes lifted to my face and I noticed her eyes were blue and sharp.  
"He extended the offer to you as well," she said. "Hide isn't the best."  
"I'll go take a look," I said.  
I nodded my thanks and left, moving silently through the meadery. Downstairs, a candle burned, most likely left by Mallus. I chose not to dwell, continuing on. I needed better armor, no offense to Zeno.

 

(General)  
Dawn was well on its way. She could taste it on the wind as she stepped off the boat.  
"Listener," Ivana whispered.  
Hekth lifted her hand as the dock captain approached,no doubt to check their cargo.  
"The risk," Ivana went on, though Hekth's hand was still up.  
Hekth ignored her, stepping forward to meet the dock captain.  
"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to return to your boat," he requested as she approached.  
He was unnerved by the way her red eyes glowed.  
"Oh, of course," she relented. "I do hope that you won't fault a woman her desire to feel solid ground beneath her feet."  
"And her?" the dock captain asked, peeking around Hekth at Ivana.  
"She never liked boats" Hekth replied. "Or rules."  
Ivana moved like liquid, slamming her elbow directly into the captain's throat. His cry of pain and surprise were cut off as he collapsed.  
"Lilith!" Hekth trilled.  
Farkas lumbered off the boat, Lilith on his back.  
"Feel better?" Hekth asked, smiling at the Altmer.  
Lilith lifted her face to the sky, breathing in the biting cold air, her eyes shining.  
"Much," she replied.  
The voices that she was familiar with were back. In Skyrim, there was a balance between the Divine and the Daedra. And now, on the wind, there was a new voice on the wind, one she'd only heard once before she was torn away.  
"Father," she whispered.  
They had brought him back, freed him from the eternity of Oblivion.  
"There will be time enough for you to meet him," Hekth assured her. "But first, let's let Cicero out of his crate."

 

(Syra)  
Sun streaked the sky as I hefted the saddle onto Brynjolf's horse. Once again, Shadowmere nipped at the poor beast's hide and I shot him a look. He was the only mount of the Brotherhood for this very reason.  
"Behave you," I ordered, giving him a soft smack on his rump.  
He gave me a warning nip, only catching the sleeve of my cuirass I'd acquired from the basement hours earlier. I smirked when he shook his head in displeasure.  
"I wonder when that smirk will become an actual smile."  
I hadn't heard him approach but Brynjolf was smart to announce himself. I kept my focus on securing his saddle.  
"Perhaps when I'm free of your company," I replied.  
I could hear him sauntering towards me. Where the heck was Rossara? She'd urged me to go saddle the horses.  
"I'd almost believe that, lass, if you hadn't been so eager to kiss me back last night."  
"As I recall, you kissed me first," I threw back at him.  
I liked arguing with him. The banter was something my mother and father had thrown back and forth at each other, taunts laced with love and trust.  
"The armor's not too heavy?"  
Brynjolf's hand was on my shoulder but I realized he was studying the armor I wore.  
"Its Black Sacrament Armor, a light armor," I informed him. "I wore something similar to it 200 years ago."  
I chuckled dryly.  
"I'd still be wearing it if it hadn't been confiscated by Imperials when they found me," I added. "It's hard armor to find since it was exclusive to the Brotherhood, once upon a time."  
Brynjolf chuckled, backing away.  
"Sometimes I forget you're special situation," he admitted.  
"Shut up," I ordered, facing him.  
His grin was an expected thing since he believed himself to be funny.  
"Kiss me and I will," he bargained.  
"What's it matter who kisses who?" I demanded.  
He answered my question with a smirk, the bastard. I wanted to hit him, I really did. I stepped forward, closer to him, rising up on my toes. I was beginning to think I was the shortest person in this forsaken land. Even Rossara was taller, moving with the grace only someone more compact should have. I drew my face even with his, meeting his eyes.  
"I have been with a lot of men," I admitted, my voice a few octaves lower, taking on a husky tone. "I have had the worst and the best. I have been left unsatisfied and been left screaming. I, on the other hand, have never left my partners in such a state."  
I ran my hands up his chest and his whole body stilled, under my control as my hands moved. His breaths came shallower and I brought my face even closer, our lips just barely touching.  
"Do not try and play with me," I said.  
I dropped to my feet, grabbing the front of his shirt and, bracing myself, I flipped him. He landed with a curse, his instincts taking over, kicking my legs out from under me. I didn't expect it, didn't expect him to have any sort of fight instinct, but that changed a second after I landed on my back on the ground.  
"Ow," I groaned.  
I glanced his way to find him grinning at me again.  
"Lass, I've been with a lot of women and I've left 'em all screaming, wanting more. If you trust me like that, I'll make sure you can't walk," he promised.  
That thought sobered me up and when he saw my expression, his grin faded.  
"And what if I can't trust you like that?" I asked. "What then?"  
"A damn shame," he admitted. "We'd make cute kids to spit up on Ross when she watches them."  
His attempts at humor were making me feel worse. And where was Rossara still? We'd be leaving when the sun rose fully at her pace.  
"Brynjolf, you've bandaged my wounds, right?" I asked. "Seen me naked?"  
"I know the female body well enough that I don't have to look, if you're worried about modesty," he admitted. "Besides, Rossara, Vex or Sapphire did most of the work."  
So, he hadn't seen the wounds. I got to my feet, my fingers already loosening and unzipping the practically hidden zippers and cinches that held my armor together. Brynjolf propped himself up on his elbow, watching me, puzzled. That expression went away when I loosened the last cinch, revealing my stomach. I saw horror cross his face as he saw, really saw, the map of scars that marred my skin.  
"It was a job. Three of us went in, each with different targets. Mine was smarter. He knew we were coming, knew there was a contract on his head. He was ready and I had no idea. He caught me, held me down and carved me open," I explained. "He took out a lot but by some mercy, one of the family got there in time. Killed him and healed me as best she could until they could get me to my mother. I couldn't move for weeks and when I finally healed, she told me that I'd never have children."  
He got to his feet, walking closer, his fingers landing on the scars. They'd healed as best they could, no longer angry and red. No longer sore. But I'd look at them and remember that pain, remember screaming as his dagger cut into me, over and over again, remember him laughing as he cut. It was one of few times I'd ever felt true fear.  
"This one."  
Brynjolf was crouching and tracing one of my scars, the longest, the one that had sliced me the deepest. It trailed from my belly button to my upper thigh.  
"How far does it go?" he asked.  
He looked up at me, his eyes void of emotion, asking the same question I'd asked my mother when I could walk again. I'd walked to a mirror, staring into it. And I'd asked. My mother hadn't been able to respond. My father had. And it was his response that I gave Brynjolf.  
"Too far."  
I stepped out of his reach, securing my armor again.  
"So no, we won't make cute kids," I told him.  
He didn't say anything and I didn't egg him on, instead handing him the reins.  
"We're just waiting on Rossara," I informed him. "And then we can go."  
"Then its a good thing I'm here," she said, announcing herself.  
I glanced her way, if only to no longer seen Brynjolf's eyes, still empty as if he was still seeing my scars. The leather strips she had the night prior were criss cross across her body, forming a pack of sorts.  
"What is this?" I asked, gesturing at the straps.  
"Something I rigged up," Rossara said, looking pleased with herself. “To carry supplies into whatever dark hole we trek into.”  
I couldn't argue with that. We didn't know what we'd be walking into. Extra supplies never hurt.  
"If you're ready, let's go," I urged. "We're so close and I'd hate for Dyre to beat us to the punch."

 

"You know, I wonder something."  
Rossara had been otherwise quiet, her head resting against my shoulder, dozing a bit. I hadn't minded, sitting as still as possible and taking care to keep Shadowmere in line, lest he buck her off. He hadn't shown much of a fancy for the girl. Or for Brynjolf's horse since he kept nipping at the poor beast if Brynjolf brought her too close. A fact I was secretly glad for since his presence alone brought on a world of anxiety, all centering on him. But I was not dwelling on that, instead allowing Rossara's sleep driven ramblings to divert my attention.  
"If this vampire has Ulfric under his control and by association, the rebel army, does that mean he also controls Whiterun?"  
"Dyre is getting a bit too powerful for his britches," I remarked grimly.  
"And if Alduin is really backing this cult to him, what does that mean for you?"  
She leaned over a bit to look at my face, earning her a snort of displeasure from Shadowmere. I shot her a look. If he bucked and knocked her off, I would be going with her. And I would not be pleased.  
"I know you're Dragonborn," Rossara informed me.  
"It means the same thing that the legend means. I'm the ultimate dragon slayer."  
It felt weird to talk about my destiny. Mostly because it didn't feel like mine. In all the stories I'd heard as well as what Babette had whispered to me, the Dragonborn was known as Ysmir. I had my doubts, as Nithrogr was part of me. She was the only female of her kind, the only female that Akatosh could not bring himself to seal away in his realm. Because, unlike their male counterparts, female dragons did not possess an uncontrollable urge to dominate. They were not without it but were ruled more by their urge to protect and nurture, a testament to how Mara had influenced Akatosh. So if I was Nithrogr, how could I be Ysmir? My eyes went towards the mountain known as the Throat of the World. Not for the first time, I wondered if perhaps the answers I sought were up there.  
"Where's your head,lass?" Brynjolf asked.  
"Nowhere," I lied, snapping my attention to the path ahead.  
I noticed that the weather had gotten colder and I swore, loudly.  
"What's wrong?"  
Rossara still sounded sleepy.  
"She doesn't do well with the cold," Brynjolf chuckled.  
"I'll manage."  
I urged Shadowmere forward and Rossara rested her head on my shoulder again, snoozing.  
"I don't understand your Skyrim weather," I admitted.  
"I don't understand how you're half Nord and not immune to it," Brynjolf teased.  
"Dyre was always better with the cold."  
His expression darkened at the mention of Dyre. I didn't blame him.  
"Brynjolf,I can bring myself to hate him for all that he has done but at the end of the day, he was my brother, my older brother," I said. "And before the bad, there was a lot of good that I can't harden my heart to."  
He sighed but said nothing.  
"I love him and I hate him as well, for being too weak and blind to see that there is a difference between familial love and what is taboo. He was a gentle boy, once, not meant for the world of assassins and death," I went on. "And if he'd had the chance to grow up outside the Sanctuary or even be exempt from the work, he would not be the twisted creature he is now."  
"And what about you? You were an assassin, a girl at that. You don't think I don't know some of the tricks you've probably used on your marks."  
He gave a harsh laugh.  
"Some of them have been used on me. Why aren't you twisted?"  
I smirked his way.  
"Brynjolf, I find myself attracted to you," I admitted, the closest thing he'd get to a confession. "If that does not scream twisted, I do not know what does."  
He stared at me, blinking, as if he needed a few moments to comprehend what I'd just said. And then his face lit up.  
"Ah ha, so you do like me," he decided on.  
"I said I'm attracted. To what, you may never know. It could just as easily be your body."  
"You're full of it," Brynjolf said.  
I rolled my eyes and returned my attention once more to the path. I could see the first hints of snow, a fact I wasn't too happy about. If we wandered into a snow storm, I didn't know that I would be okay. And Rossara's armor wasn't thick enough against the cold. No doubt, the Breton would freeze her tail off just as quick as I in a storm.  
"Lass."  
His voice had a serious edge to it and I didn't look at him because I got a bad feeling.  
"Can you kill him? Your brother? If it comes down to it, could you take his life?"  
He seemed to know that I couldn't face him. And his posed question was one that I longer pondered. I love Dyre. Besides Kaya, he had been my only companion that I could simply be a child with. He was my best friend, the one who taught me what herbs would hurt me and which ones would help me. When I came back carved like a pheasant, when I was so raw that I couldn't leave my bed, Dyre had sat by my bed, reading to me and singing songs. These were memories I let flood my mind. Because if I blocked them, they'd only gain strength the second I laid eyes on my brother and despite what he'd done as my brother, as my blood, he'd done much worse as my rapist.  
"He is still my brother. Blood still connects us. But the taint he's brought to that relationship is stronger."  
I glanced at Brynjolf.  
"Did you know about Zeno's daughter?"  
"Yes," Brynjolf replied.  
I don't know how he'd done it but he'd brought his horse right alongside Shadowmere and my mount allowed it, though he eyed the other horse fiercely. I wanted a change of topic. I needed one.  
"I can't hold a sword still," I admitted.  
He was eyeing me, no doubt warily, his mind on my wrists, on the still healing slices.  
"My fingers shook so bad, when I picked up a dagger. I used a fork," I said. "We had quite a few masochists in our fold, growing up."  
"I wonder more and more over the sanity of your parents for raising children around assassins."  
"No better place to grow up," I bragged. "Crazy as most assassins are, they make for an interesting family."

 

(General)  
"Ivana, I recall asking you to release Cicero from his crate. He does not handle small spaces well," Hekth scolded.  
She let the girl stew for awhile under her disapproving eye as the two dock hands lifted said crate into their acquired wagon. Farkas hid under a large pile of flour and furs, his snuff the only part showing, blending in well amongst the wolf furs. But Cicero's crate was another matter. It was out of place as well as heavy. And it would not suit them well to draw too much attention.  
"He is dressed as a jester still," Ivana objected, as if her own Chitin armor was not a curiosity itself.  
"Cicero is a free man here," Hekth said. "Mad or not, he is the chosen Keeper and a loyal subject to the Night Mother. Release him from his crate."  
With a sigh, Ivana punched the crate, the sheer force busting the hinges that she hit and releasing Cicero. The dock hands jumped as the jester clad man popped out of the box.  
"Have we returned, dear Listener?" he asked, his attention on Hekth but his mind, undoubtedly, on the Night Mother.  
"We need to go."  
Lilith was insistent, trying not to appear too suspicious, the mask of the chitin armor that matched Ivana's in place. She always complained it smelled but Hekth understood the caution.  
"Where to then?" she asked, stepping aside so that the dock hands could remove the unnecessary crate.  
Lilith retreated into herself, her eyes glowing slightly, even through the mask. No one saw, thankfully and Lilith was quick.  
"A cave not far from Dawnstar," she reported.  
"We will catch up to them in no time!" Hekth decided, surprisingly cheerful.  
"You don't even know the way," Lilith accused.  
"Oh, but Cicero does!" the jester announced, dancing joyfully.  
"We should have left him in the crate," Ivana grumbled.  
Hekth ignored her, climbing into the wagon.  
"Let's make haste," she urged. "We might miss out on the fun otherwise."

 

(Syra)  
"Vampires," Rossara whispered.  
She was still rubbing her eyes, which did nothing to solidify my confidence that she'd make the shot.  
"Their dog isn't going to be too happy," she went on, sounding like she was talking to herself.  
"She does that," Brynjolf said to me, his breath hot on my ear.  
He was behind me, his body against mine as we crouched. I tried not to be too distracted by his body heat or the fact that his thigh was by my elbow.  
"Fire away," Rossara mumbled, summoning her bow and firing without aiming.  
The hiss that rang out said she'd hit her mark and she wasted no time firing the next arrow. True to her word, the hound with them let out a snarl and came charging. Rossara fired another arrow but the coal colored beast dodged, lunging at her. I reached out, grabbing her hood and yanking her back. Brynjolf charged forward, passing the two of us as we fell into a heap, his blade slicing through the hound's neck. It gave one whimper before it died.  
"Thanks," Rossara said, crushing me with her weight.  
"Just get off me and we'll consider it even," I said.  
She did, getting to her feet and then offering her hand to me. I accepted, letting her haul me up. She was surprisingly strong, a fact that she chose not to acknowledge as she followed in Brynjolf's wake. He was creeping closer to the large door that the vampires had been standing guard over. The gate was open, conveniently, bodies and spare parts stacked in a small cart. I eyed it but said nothing, taking the rear as we descended further into the crypt. Rossara summoned her bow again and good thing she did. I could hear the rickety creak of skeletons. The crypt itself reeked of death.  
"Lass, stay here," Brynjolf ordered.  
"What?" I demanded.  
Brynjolf looked my way.  
"You don't have a weapon."  
I rolled my eyes but chose not to argue.  
"Push on," I snapped at him. "I can handle myself."

 

(General)  
She sat on the ramparts, the perfect spot to watch the army return. She expected triumph, an army perhaps silent and grim, given that they were ordered to completely destroy Riften and all its inhabitants. She faintly recalled there being an orphanage there. But the army came back smaller and looking defeated. Her brow furrowed and she rose, leaping from the ramparts and cutting off the army's path to the doors.  
"What happened?" she demanded. "Surely Riften did not put up any sort of fight."  
"We were beaten," the general admitted, sounding shocked that such a thing had happened.  
But not unpleasantly so.  
"Riften's forces... beat you?" she repeated slowly.  
It was inconceivable.  
"They knew we were coming. Their defense was impeccable," the general continued.  
"You're glad they beat you," she accused, her anger coming out quick.  
The general took a step back but she was faster, seizing hold of his throat, lifting him easily off the ground.  
"Ulfric would never order us to slaughter our kinsmen," the general croaked.  
She wanted to dash the hope she felt in their audience, let them know that their precious leader was just a puppet. But that would reveal what Dyre was and would ruin his plan. His temper was formidable and even she knew it was best not to try to fight him.  
"Ulfric did."  
Dyre was as silent as a shadow, his appearance as if by magic. The men only knew him as Ulfric's new adviser, one that held a lot of power.  
"The World-Eater has promised our Jarl that he will stay his hand, he will assist us in winning this war by roasting those Imperial pigs," Dyre announced. "But we must show him that we are determined to win!"  
His words brought fear and a bit of anger, she could sense it now, overwhelming the hope Ulfric's men had.  
"Priestess, put the general down," he ordered.  
And she did, reluctantly dropping him back on his feet.  
"Return to your stations, rest. Tomorrow we march to Riften again. And I'm going with you."

 

(Syra)  
Vampires were a lot harder to fight unarmed than a couple of goofs from the Fighters' Guild. Something Rossara and I had found when she'd been lining a shot and ended up on her behind, one of the two that had guarded the previous gate standing over her in seconds. Until Brynjolf separated its head from its body. Enraged, its female counterpart had leapt, hissing and spitting, at me. Their skin was a lot harder too. But the gauntlets were reinforced and I had a fighting chance. Now, I surveyed the cavern, more to the point, the large pedestal, for lack of a better word.  
"When you Nords build a crypt, you really go all out," Rossara mumbled.  
Brynjolf gave her a dry smirk as he let his eyes drift in the direction of voices. I hadn't wanted to say anything about the vampires. There was a hooded look to his eyes and a tenseness that didn't sit right with his body. I'd address it later.  
"Rossara," I whispered. "Stay back here and shoot at them."  
She gave me a look but nodded. I looked next to Brynjolf who was still watching those vampires as best he could at this angle. I reached over, catching a lock of his hair and yanking him to face me, staring right into his eyes now. He grimaced as I tightened my grip, having been greeted with resistance.  
"Whatever you're seeing, put it out of your mind," I ordered. "This is a job and I need you focused. Not drowning in your own head."  
He made a face, as if he objected to my words and I tugged harder.  
"Brynjolf, I am counting on you."  
I stared into his face and he must of seen some hint of weakness, his body relaxing. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, they were clear. I released his hair, backing up a bit. Sensing that it was now or never, Rossara summoned her bow and she fired an arrow, snagging one of the vampires right in the neck. I surged forward, leaping onto his back and grabbing Rossara's arrow, stabbing it in deeper. He snarled, trying to get me off. His partner grabbed at me, raking my back, even through my armor and I flinched but held on. Brynjolf was struggling with a third. I could feel blood dripping down my back through my armor, the vampire pest still tearing into it. I adjusted my grip and kicked back, the sudden move startling him and he fell back. I grabbed the arrow, savagely, plunging it into the softer part of the vampires throat and dragging it across. He gurgled in pain and surprise, falling and I leapt off him, going after the one that had been at my back before, armed only with an arrow. He saw me coming and rolled out of the way, a spell on his lips. Right before me appeared a creature of stone. I froze, unsure of what to do. The beast thought faster, bringing one of its clawed hands down and smacking into me. I was powerless as I flew into the air, off the stairs, landing and striking my head on one of the pillars. I was on the pedestal now. This had to be what the vampires were looking for. My vision was slightly blurred but I could see a much smaller pillar and I crawled for it, intending to use it to get back to my feet. I'd literally been hit by a bag of rocks. Sounding far away, I could hear the sounds of battle and knew I had to get back to the fight. I reached up, resting my hand on the center of the pillar, lifting myself up. I was on my feet now, hand still on the pillar as I waited out the spinning room. The stabbing pain that echoed from my right hand brought me back and I let out a shriek, staring at the sharp spike that had gone straight through before it retracted.  
"Lass!"  
I sensed someone behind me and forced myself to move, just barely ducking as the beast took another swing, his vampire master behind him. He was grinning, his fangs visible and his eyes on my bleeding hand. I closed it into a fist, backing up. Even if I could throw a punch, fists weren't going to get me out of this.  
"Wanna see a new trick I've been working on?" I asked the vampire.  
I opened my mouth, tapping into a part of my memory that I didn't quite understand its existence.  
"FUS-RO-DAH!" I roared, the sheer force of it leaving my body cause me to slide back a bit, my progress aided by the blood at my feet.  
My blood I realized. The beast had been torn apart, having shielded its master, probably on his order. But he was still on his feet, looking a little surprised. That surprise turned to anger.  
"Cattle, you are now out of tricks," he said, stalking forward.  
I lifted my fists in my defense, ready, and he lunged. A chain of lightning cracked through the air, striking him and knocking him back, his body convulsing. I followed the lightning's path, my eyes falling on a woman, standing inside a vertical coffin that was right where the hand piercing pillar had been. Blood stained the corner of her mouth and she was very unsteady on her feet, shambling forward. There was dragon in her eyes, the very same eyes I'd once seen reflected in Ulfric's. My lips parted as she made her way to me, staring at me.  
"Where is...who are you?" she asked.  
"I can ask you the same question," I replied. "But questions can wait until he's taken care of."  
I looked to the vampire who was getting to his feet, still shaking. He didn't have a chance to do much else. An arrow pierced through his neck and he collapsed, a gurgling mess at our feet.  
"Or questions can be asked now."  
Brynjolf ran up, sword still in hand which he pointed at the mysterious woman.  
"Brynjolf, stop. She defended me."  
I stepped in front of her even as he lowered the sword. Meanwhile, she reached out, touching my shoulder and I faced her.  
"You woke me up," she realized.  
Her eyes went to my hand and she reached for that too, observing the hole there.  
"I didn't mean to," I admitted.  
"Then why are you here?" she asked.  
She didn't seem irritated, just sleepy.  
"My brother Dyre, he's taken an interest in this cave and I wanted to beat him to the punch," I replied. "I wanted to steal whatever he was after before he could get it."  
"And once you have it, whatever he is after, what were your plans with it?"  
Her posture had changed when I'd mentioned Dyre. She was rigid, looking ready to strike. I observed this and knew that at some point, she had met Dyre and he had done something to her. She was what I was looking for.  
"I'm going to end his wretched existence," I replied.

 

(General)  
"Stop the wagon!" Lilith insisted suddenly.  
She was rubbing her head, her eyes dimmed and far away, as if she was lost in thought. Not thought, Hekth realized, but a conversation with a higher being. And that higher being was whispering clearly distressing news.  
"Cicero, stop," she ordered.  
"Yes, Listener," he giggled, yanking hard on the reins.  
"What's wrong?"  
Hekth was on Lilith now, waiting expectantly as the girl turned torn eyes her way.  
"We need to go to Riften," she said.  
"What?" Hekth demanded.  
"Mara has called for my aid."  
Lilith looked to Cicero.  
"To Riften," she ordered but he made no move to comply.  
He only listened to the Listener.  
"What is going on in Riften?" demanded Hekth.  
She was not blind to the patrolling guards, watching their stopped wagon with suspicious eyes.  
"There is an army, marching from Windhelm. No doubt, they will overtake Riften. Countless people will die."  
"What do I care for the affairs of mortal Men?" Hekth demanded  
Her words were harsh and Lilith knew she did not mean them or else both Cicero and Ivana would not be sitting in this very wagon.  
"If it was only mortal Men, I would not be getting involved, lest it served a higher purpose," Lilith retorted. "But the one leading them is no mortal."  
Lilith's face gave something away and she saw those eyes flash as she fully grasped Lilith's implication. Regardless, Lilith had to say it aloud.  
"The one who leads them is the very boy you birthed, the very one who made you what you are," Lilith announced. "Your son."  
Hekth was silent and eerily still before she heaved a deep sigh.  
"Cicero. To Riften."

 

Her name was Serana, not that he cared much. She was a pretty face but a vampire, nonetheless, and he was always weary of them. Mercer had inducted a few, over the years, into the Guild but they either died or were killed, trying to drink from Guild members. He knew firsthand what a vampire bite could do, the memories causing a real ache in his neck which he couldn't rub away. Not for lack of trying. There was something a bit different about Serana though. She had stopped the bleeding of Syra's hand, though she could do nothing about the hole straight through it except bandage it with what linen Rossara had stored in her ever full satchel. And now, she wasn't even looking at Syra but the vampire was copying the little habits he'd come to learn were Syra's tells. The was she walked, her posture perfect but not so jarring as to draw attention, the ever so slight tilt to her hip that Syra did when she stood, why he didn't know but would not complain as it showed off her curves when she insisted on bulky armor. And he noticed Serana reaching for hair to twist, even though hers was much shorter and the gesture was lost on her. It was like she couldn't help it, like these mannerisms were ingrained in her. Had they met in Syra's life before? Had these quirks once originally been Serana's? His brain hurt just a tad as he walked behind the three women, the sunlight shocking him. He saw Serana flinch at the sun, pulling her hood over her head.  
"Its so bright out here. I don't know how you stand it," she said.  
"Probably because we're human," Brynjolf retorted, the words slipping out before he could stop them.  
Syra shot him a look, one that said she wasn't amused and was about to knock him on his ass. But she kept moving and Serana followed. Rossara fell back, falling in step with him.  
"You noticed?" she asked.  
"That she moves like Syra?"  
He nodded.  
"That tomb was old, like, thousands of years old," Rossara observed. "Vampires that sleep that long, she wouldn't have been that strong."  
He heard her words, his eyes focused on the odd scroll that was on Serana's back. No one had brought it up, a fact that disturbed him but he dared not voice, lest he irritate Syra further.  
"Keep an eye on her," he whispered to Rossara who glared at him in irritation.  
He gave her a sheepish smile, realizing that she was already keeping an eye on her. It was Ross's way. She trusted few and not easily. He shouldn't have doubted that she was already doing just that.  
"Lass!" he called up to Syra, only just now realizing how far ahead she'd gotten.  
She glanced back at him. raising an eyebrow. He was slightly disturbed to find that Serana had responded exactly the same way.  
"Where are we headed?"  
Syra gave him a smirk.  
"Where else?" she asked. "Riften."


	26. The Battle for Riften

(General)  
Fire was in her veins. The wind was cold but the wind had never bothered her. Vampires rarely felt anything. But she was feeling it now and she wrapped her arms tighter around Syra's waist, leaning in closer as her horse surged forward. She could not remember the last time she'd been on a horse. She'd been very young and had been afraid of their sheer size, uncertain of their footing. But something in her was attuned to the power in the horse, knew the surety of its footing and her fear was eased enough that she found herself enjoying the ride.  
"Is this how you feel?" she whispered to Syra.  
She knew the girl was listening to her, she didn't know how but she knew that this girl heard a lot.  
"When you ride with such abandon, you feel free. You feel..."  
She hesitated, unable to state just what it is she felt, searching her mind for the right glanced over her shoulder, a reptilian shape to her eyes.  
"Alive," she offered, an ancient tone weaved into her words.  
There it was, Serana decided. That was her exact thought and to hear it voiced so easily made her just a bit envious. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a gray streak and realized that the other horse had passed them. She was surprised though, when Brynjolf, the Nord that didn't trust her, drew the reins fast, stopping the horse from a dead run. She wondered why until her eyes observed the wisps of smoke that curled just in the distance. Syra pulled up alongside Brynjolf.  
"Is that?"  
"Its Riften, it has to be," Brynjolf declared.  
"The battle is still going on?" Syra asked.  
"Or this is a second wave," he reasoned.  
"Who cares what it is," Rossara said. "We need to get there."  
Syra and Brynjolf exchanged a look before Syra spurred Shadowmere forward again.  
"I hope you're ready to fight," Syra tossed back at Serana. "Because that army is what stands between us and Dyre."

 

It wasn't how she wanted to announce that she was alive but it would do. Lilith knew these men were being tricked and she killed as few as possible, paralyzing those that she had a chance to and only wounding those that she couldn't paralyze. Hekth had the same idea, dodging what swords she could, slicing at legs with her blade. She was distracted, no doubt looking for Dyre. Lilith was as well but in the sheer chaos of what was going on, she'd closed off her mind, not wanting to read anyone's. It wouldn't do any good anyway. She was beginning to think that her one blind spot was vampires, though she couldn't figure out why. A dagger flew by her cheek, breezing against her skin and she heard a man cry out, turning to watch a Stormcloak collapse, the dagger embeded in his eye.  
"I said no killing!"  
Lilith turned to Ivana, who was gearing up to throw another dagger. Where she kept them all was a mystery.  
"You need to focus, be in the here and now," Ivana scolded, not even chastised or cowed by Lilith's tone. "This is a battle."  
As she said that, a soldier rushed her and, without losing a beat, she spun, kicking him in the chest. She moved a lot like Syra did, with almost as much precision. Which reminded her of Dawnstar, of Syra, and she had to wonder why she was heading to some cave rather than safely tucked away in a city. But if Dyre had the whole Windhelm guard at his beck and call, was there a safe city to be found?  
"This is hopeless," Ivana suddenly decided, backing up.  
As strong as she was, even she could be overwhelmed. And it was just the three of them, having left Cicero and Farkas behind with the wagon and circling to the end of the army. Lilith had hoped it would be enough but she'd also underestimated the sheer size of troops Ulfric kept in his city.  
"Mara is here!" Lilith snapped. "She's trying to help but there's only so much she can do."  
"Especially with Nocturnal's influence," Hekth remarked, throwing a soldier into his fellow brethren, knocking them down.  
She looked bored of the fight already. Lilith sighed.  
"This is Nocturnal's city too," she argued. "The Divine and the Daedra cannot intervene in Nirn, not freely. Not without some sort of beacon."  
"Then its good that I'm here."  
Lilith had had enough surprises in the past day alone. She wouldn't question Syra's timing. Not until Riften was safe and Dyre lay ruined at someone's feet. She didn't particularly care whose. Syra drew Shadowmere to a halt and the horse reared, falling down heavily. It was the horse that temporarily halted the men in their attack. No doubt they remembered it as the horse that had raised chaos on the ramparts at Whiterun, crippling the archers and their defensive fire. With a start, Lilith realized that Syra didn't need to fight. She'd earned their respect, not only by taking down the archers but by fighting Alduin and chasing him off. By winning them Whiterun. And she realized it too.  
"Is this how you repay me?" she demanded, sliding off the horse and tossing the reins to the strange girl that sat behind her. "I and the Arch-Mage?"  
They had the sense to look ashamed, chastised. Syra looked to Lilith, no doubt still processing how Lilith was standing here but continuing her lecture all the same.  
"She cheated death,for Skyrim! She marched with you to Whiterun, went through the sewers to bring in men! She leads the companions! If she is good enough for some of the strongest Nordic warriors you have ever known, why is she not good enough for you? That you would march on Riften rather than trying to reclaim Winterhold is shameful. It shows a lack of honor."  
"We follow Ulfric's orders! Not yours," one of the soldiers had the gall to say.  
Syra focused on him, a dry smirk on her lips.  
"You are all so blind that you do not see when Ulfric has been made a puppet. Would he order you to attack an innocent city? Would he not do the honorable thing and send some type of warning so that they may evacuate?"  
Lilith relented and opened her mind to their thoughts, hearing the doubts in their mind, knowing that Syra was feeding them the right words. That they needed one more push to fully win them over.  
"I have never known Ulfric to not be involved in the battle himself. And if he is unable to do so, he addresses you himself. He does not speak to you through an adviser or a steward."  
Lilith stepped forward as she spoke.  
"He respects that you lay down your life for his cause and shows you that respect in his actions. In his words," she went on. "That is the Ulfric you serve. Not the one that speaks to you through advisers."  
Something changed, Lilith could feel it. It wasn't a thought, more a collective realization. And it warmed her just a bit.  
"Point me in the head of the serpent and I will tear it off," Syra urged them.  
"Dyre marched with them," Hekth said, speaking up at last.  
Lilith wondered when she would. Syra's body went rigid and she turned very slowly, her eyes widening as Hekth stepped forward. There was a tenderness to her face that Lilith hadn't thought the harsh angles of her face could melt to.  
"My moon and stars," she whispered.  
Syra surged forward, wrapping her arms around Hekth's waist. Hekth returned the embrace. For just a second, Lilith missed her own mother, who'd been swiped from Winterhold moments before the college had exploded. But she shook it off  
"Where is Dyre?" she asked the nearest Stormcloak.  
The man pointed up the hill, where the faintest sounds of fighting could be heard.  
"He's leading the charge," the soldier responded. "He'll be what breaks through the gates. Says he knows a way."  
Syra drew out of Hekth's embrace, looking hesitant to do so but it was a testament to how deeply her hate for Dyre went.  
"Not if I stop him," she declared, her eyes darkening, the very pupil turning into a slit.  
Hekth grinned, showing the barest hint of fang.  
"My daughter, you have gotten more vicious with time," she marveled.  
Syra smirked.  
"You have no idea."  
She threw a glance at the stranger on the horse, yet another mind Lilith couldn't read but she'd glimpsed enough to know that whoever this girl was, she had a score to settle with Dyre as well. The girl, Serana, extended her arm and Syra took it, letting herself being pulled up onto Shadowmere. The horse turned to Hekth, staring at her for a second and she smiled sardonically, as was usual for her. Syra allowed them the exchange, looking down at what men were gathered.  
"Spread words through your ranks," she ordered. "Make them see reason."  
She pointed at Brynjolf who watched her, clearly amused.  
"And get him to the warriors from the Fighters Guild or you won't have a chance."  
With that, she spurred the horse forward, vanishing as Shadowmere phased through the void, returning to Sithis's heart. Or at least that's what Lilith guessed. Either way, it left the soldiers gaping in shock.  
"She always knows how to make an exit," Lilith remarked with a chuckle.  
Hekth snorted.  
"My daughter has always had a flair for the dramatics. In fact, she tends to be a bit over dramatic."  
Her attention turned next to Brynjolf and she smirked, the expression similar to Syra's.  
"Now you, young man, you just reek of trouble," she commented.  
He grinned.  
"I'm never one to brag," he said and her eyes rolled.  
"Then don't. And stay behind Ivana. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you before I fully get to interrogate you."

 

(Syra)  
I wouldn't lie. I relished the chaos stirred up when Shadowmere appeared in Riften from nowhere. But I had no time to fully appreciate it, urging the horse on. The gates were breached, Ulfric's men pooling in. I knew the luck I'd had with the men earlier ha been a fluke. They were small and at the back, which I'd taken as a sign of hesitation and I'd grasped it, weaving the strands of doubt I'd already felt.  
"The city hasn't been evacuated yet," Serana remarked, her voice a husky whisper in my ear.  
I didn't ask how she knew. I just knew to trust her word. The stakes were higher now, innocents in the crossfire. We galloped around a corner, nearly trampling the beggar woman from the square.  
"Serana, handle the innocents," I requested.  
I didn't have to ask twice. She leapt from the horse, mid gallop, landing solidly, as if she knew what I was going to ask before I asked it. I didn't question the foresight, after all, Lilith was a mind reader. It would not surprise me if Serana was too, vampire or not. Shadowmere continued forward, his pace faster as if he knew we were getting closer to the fight and he could smell the blood. I, meanwhile, was still questioning who to stop first. Dyre or the army? If I stopped Dyre, the army still had time to destroy Riften and people still had to live here. But if I stopped the army, Dyre could get away. Grumbling, I knew the only option I had. I had overheard Lilith and I dreaded letting another being take me over. But the power would come in handy.  
"Mara," I said, the gates coming into sight. "I will make you this deal. Take over and save your city, stop this battle. And in return, do not let Dyre escape."  
"Deal," I heard her voice whisper before we merged,my world going black.

 

(General)  
It was pure chaos, the second those gates opened, the red eyed lad pushing his way in. So long as he lived, Zeno would never forget that grin, the predatory hunger and triumph in domination in that simple expression. Or the fangs that even now ripped into the throats of the Riften guard as well as his men. And now, those fangs were coming for him. He blocked with his war hammer but the foul creature grabbed his hammer, lifting him and it with one arm, throwing him aside like he was a child's doll. "Fool," he laughed. "What is a mortal man compared to me?"  
"Skyrim is too proud to side with beasts!" spat Zeno.  
The vampire laughed.  
"Oh you cattle amuse me."  
He stalked forward, his eyes glowing.  
"As if your lives matter."  
He reached down, picking up Zeno's discarded hammer and raising it over his head. Zeno shielded himself as the vampire brought the hammer down. And no blow came. He peeked out and saw Syra, standing behind the vampire, one hand wrapped around the hammer, holding it in place and keeping the beast from bashing Zeno's head in.  
"Hello, Dyre," she said, yanking the hammer away.  
Her eyes glowed a dim gold, overshadowing her usually blue eyes. The vampire smiled, turning to face her, forgetting Zeno for just a second.  
"Which one are you?" he asked. "You false gods?"  
Syra's matching smile was more intimidating.  
"You are the head of the snake and I have come to cut you off," she intoned.  
Dyre laughed.  
"I have known of my sister's little... quirk for some time," he said, unpinning the crest that pinned his cape in place. "And I have a contingency."  
He moved fast, pressing the crest into her skin. She shrieked, shoving him back but already the glow was leaving her eyes. The crest fell to the ground and Syra fell next to it, breathing heavily.  
"It'll hurt for a bit, dear sister," Dyre informed her, closing the distance between them and reaching down, lifting her by her throat. "But the pain will subside."  
"What did you do to Mara?" Syra growled.  
"I expelled her," he gloated.  
"You're going to regret that," she declared.  
She kicked him then, hitting his chest hard enough that he let go, stumbling back a few steps. Syra charged him, punching him in his face. Her second punch was diverted and Dyre retaliated, punching her as well She knocked aside his fist with her wrist, retreating a few steps.  
"Try to remember, Syra. We were raised the same. Anything you know, I know. And I have had centuries to hone my skills. Tell me, sister, what did you spend most of your time doing in Coldharbour?"  
"Fighting to stay alive," she replied, running at him.  
He kicked at her and she caught his leg, having to adjust her footing to compensate for his bulk.  
"I thought it was my fault," she informed him, yanking him forward, greeting him with her fist."Father's death and being trapped in Coldharbour. All this time I thought I had done something, had somehow offended Molag Bal. And it was your fault!"  
She punched him again, an upper cut this time, one driven by more force. He fell to the ground, his nose gushing blood. Syra stood over him, holding him down with her foot on his neck.  
"I spent so much time hating myself, hating everyone, pushing them away and thinking that if I let them close, if I feel to happy, I'll be dragged back to that torment."  
She pushed down on his throat.  
"And now I find out that it was all your fault that I was there in the first place."  
"I knew you would never willingly become a vampire," Dyre gasped, trying to pry her foot of his throat. "What better way to preserve you. I assumed you'd be more open to eternity after a few years in the very realm of my lord."  
Syra smirked at his words.  
"A few years? Is that how you see it?"  
Her eyes were blue slits, practically glowing.  
"I spent 200 years, frozen in time practically. Do you know how often I tried to die? Tried to free myself? And it never worked. To find that it was my brother who put me there?"  
She shook her head, almost in disbelief.  
"It was the moment I knew that you are not my brother anymore, the moment I hardened my heart against you."  
"What are you saying?" Dyre demanded, his struggling momentarily paused as he stared at her in disbelief.  
"I hate you, Dyre," Syra declared. "And I am going to kill you."  
Snarling, Dyre grabbed her ankle, yanking her feet out from under her and lunging at her. His hand wrapped around her throat as he pinned her, his eyes glowing red.  
"You seek to kill me sister?" he asked, his fangs poised and ready to strike. "Very well. I shall return the favor."  
He struck, his fangs piercing the soft skin of her throat. Syra screamed out, her eyes no longer the reptilian slits they had been. She fought to push him off but was weakened by the steady stream of blood leaving her body. Her head lolled back, giving Dyre better access to her throat. Zeno moved then, grabbing his war hammer. But the girl moved faster. She was a blur but one that came with enough force to slam into Dyre, dislodging his fangs and knocking him back. He snarled in anger as she took an animalistic defensive stance over Syra's strewn body, barring her own fangs at Dyre. His smile was stained with blood.  
"Well, well, look who's back. Did you enjoy your nap?"  
"I would have enjoyed it more had you not interrupted it," she snapped.  
"Allow me to right that wrong," he offered, running at her.  
She met him half way, magic at her fingertips. She threw a chain of lightning, just narrowly missing him as he ducked, throwing up a ward in defense as he charged. Zeno, meanwhile, hurried to Syra, drawing a rag from his armor and pressing it to her throat.  
"Oh, lass, I got ya," he whispered, lifting her head a bit.  
She took hold of the rag, freeing his hand and he lifted her fully.  
"Zeno."  
Her voice was a hoarse whisper, blood staining her teeth.  
"Shh," Zeno urged.  
She shook her head.  
"Put me down," she ordered. "Or else I can't stop this."  
Her blue eyes locked on his.  
"And a lot of people are going to die."

 

(Syra)  
I was asking a lot. He was a father and he couldn't just turn the fatherly instincts off. But I was not his daughter.  
"You have to trust me."  
Dyre had torn something when he'd bitten me. I could taste blood and my legs were tingling masses of numbness. And still, I would not let him win. Reluctantly, Zeno set me down and I took just a second to try to breathe around the blood. Afterwards, I closed my eyes, looking for Mara and she did not disappoint, ever the loving matron of Riften. She hovered nearby, in arms length. But when I reached for her, she retreated.  
"To merge now, my child, would be too much for you. You would die."  
"I'm tougher than you think," I insisted, still reaching for her.  
She still seemed hesitant.  
"I'm dead anyway, one way or another. Take. My. Hand."  
She sighed but surrendered, knowing that without her, her city would be lost. And without me, she couldn't save it. Before our hands could fully meet, another hand joined the mix, as ethereal as Mara's but of a darker tint. I looked into the dark eyes of Nocturnal, who'd I'd forgotten had just as strong a connection to Riften as Mara. Her eyes slid to Mara, as if she expected to be challenged.  
"My thief is here," she said, as if Mara needed an explanation.  
Mara seemed surprised but didn't question it and they both took my hand. The feeling of two different energies entering my body, especially at the same time, was painful. It was almost like I was being torn in two. This time, though, I didn't black out, conscious as I managed to somehow rise to my feet. My body wasn't under my control. All I could do was watch as magic glowed at my fingers, a surprisingly harmonious mixing of Divine and Daedra. I didn't have time to focus on that, realizing that I was rising into the air, the streets of Riften no longer under my feet.  
"Do not panic," Nocturnal intoned. "Just let the magic flow."  
It must have been Mara's influence but I didn't feel panicked, I felt at peace, closing my eyes and doing as she said. I surrendered to the magic.

 

(General)  
"Zeno!"  
He tore his eyes away from Syra, floating above his head, all of their heads, looking at Brynjolf.  
"What is she?" he demanded. "What is it you hired me to guard?"  
"I'm not even sure," Brynjolf admitted. "But you need to get your men to pull back. Windhelm's forces are retreating and we need to keep Dyre from escaping."  
"The vampire?" Zeno asked, pointing.  
Brynjolf followed his finger, watching Serana as she tore Dyre apart.  
"That lass literally just woke up and she's winning," he marveled.  
"Brynjolf! Your lass is flying!" Zeno argued.  
"I'm impressed, I didn't know she could do that," he admitted, returning his gaze to Syra.  
She was glowing now, a dark mist emanating from her body, mixing with a bright light.  
"Zeno, I don't know much about what she is. What I do know is that she's given more of herself to Skyrim than she owes it. And that whatever she's doing is just raising that debt. Now, go get your men, stop them from pursuing the army and have them cover every exit. Get someone on the temple, the orphanage and the Keep. Keep them away from the vampire though."  
Brynjolf met his old friend's eyes.  
"Trust me," he urged. "You know me."  
"I know you. So I know not to trust you," Zeno said. "Well give it a try."

 

"Gotta say, I missed this," Dyre admitted, slipping out of Serana's grip.  
Just barely, a fact he wouldn't admit. How was she so strong?  
"The Elder Scroll, where is it?" demanded Serana.  
Dyre laughed.  
"You'd love to know. Why, I wonder. To help Syra find it?"  
"I have all kinds of things swimming in my head right now," Serana snarled. "Things that it would be impossible for me to witness. My family was happy once but every one of those memories has been eclipsed by this twisted mess left behind when we became vampires. Your sister and I are the same!"  
Serana lunged for him again and he moved, but slower, no doubt temporarily distracted comparing Serana to his sister. She threw a Drain Health spell at him and he countered with a ward, hiding behind his usual casual cockiness as he searched his mind. Serana decided to help him out if only to distract him.  
"We were corrupted by the ones we love most, isolated from everyone and everything. And we were alone. I will admit, she was worse off put in the very realm that could have broken her, but the end result is the same. The day you woke me up to steal the Elder Scroll, you betrayed my father and now, you're running scared, lashing out at all of Skyrim for a mistake you made. Lashing out at Syra, because she dares to live. Well, are you going to lash out at me? Don't I carry some of the blame for your imperfections? Had you never found my diary, you never would have known where I was sleeping. If you think about it, I practically set you up."  
Dyre gave a boyish laugh, his face hardened as the sky above them glowed. Whatever magic Syra was working, it was powerful. Serana could taste it. And so could Dyre. He glanced upwards at Syra.  
"Serana, I know what game you are playing. And in truth, if I was the child I had been 200 years ago, I would have fallen for it completely, attacked you, a much stronger vampire with reckless abandon and put myself right in your grip. But alas, I am smarter than that. I have spent my time as a spider, laying a carefully crafted web of deception, the likes of which include your very esteemed father, the oh so terrifying World Eater and Syra herself. Even you as well. And you have played your rolls well, with very little prompting. But your roll has come to an end. I should have taken care of you when I woke you up but I just couldn't bring myself to destroy such a pretty face."  
His hands were engulfed by flames as all the amusement left his face, leaving only a homicidal look of annoyance behind.  
"I will not make the same mistake again."  
Serana smiled.  
"Well puppet master, you may have planned everyone's wild card but you forgot someone."  
Dyre opened his mouth to question her but found it unnecessary as he felt an arrow pierce his neck, the shot well placed so that if he removed it, he would surely bleed to death. Shocked, he followed what he'd deemed the arrow's path. A girl crouched on the roof of the blacksmith's abode, her bow one of Daedric magic that crackled as the smoke from the smith's forge framed her. She let him reach her eye before she readied another arrow, holding eye contact all the while and aiming at him. Dyre instantly felt rage building up. He turned back to Serana, opting for an spear of ice rather than a cloak of fire. She wasn't prepared and the spell hit her with some force, knocking her over the railings and into the grungy water below. Next, Dyre turned his attention on the archer and she knew it, her calm facade knocked aside as she looked around, probably for some place to jump. He moved with lethal speed, climbing the house, leaving harsh craters in it as he did. Last second, he heard the whistle of another arrow and saw the girl swing from the rope she'd just shot, landing solidly on the ground. She cast him a look before running into the crowd of soldiers returning to the city. Soldiers that were part of Riften's force. Where was his army?  
"Have you realized?"  
The ancient voice filled him with annoyance as he faced Syra, looking instead in the eyes of a Daedra, the blackened pupils a dead giveaway.  
"You are all alone. For you can not rule with fear and force," she advised.  
Dyre laughed, snapping the arrow in his neck, careful to not dislodge the arrowhead.  
"This coming from one of your kind? You are all about fear and ruling through it."  
"Maybe so but I do not look for my army, wondering where it has gone, why it has fled. I look instead at you, a child in a monster's body. Your own innocence was taken so young from you, as is the case often in this world you mortals live in. And so in turn, you lash out, ever the child."  
"I am no child!” Dyre snarled.  
Syra smirked at his outburst, clearly amused, cocking her head.  
"You are certainly no man."  
He threw fire now, the likes of which the Daedric parasite was ready for, redirecting it with ease. Dyre scrambled out of the way, sure of foot on the mist slicked roof. He heard more than saw another arrow headed for him and caught it with ease, his gaze falling on the little Breton girl again. She made a face and made to run, to find another shadow to hide in.  
"A child am I? Very well," Dyre said, smiling at Syra. "Then allow me to act out."  
Before she could stop him, Dyre leapt from the roof, using the superior speed of his to zip, catching the archer's wrist. She seemed panicked, now face to face with him.  
"You are right to be afraid," he assured her.  
"Ross!" yelled Brynjolf.  
Those panicked eyes flickered to him and Dyre caught her face, forcing it to meet his own.  
"Now, now, my dear," he chuckled. "This is between us. And let's be honest, he won't get here in time."  
Ross kicked at him, threw herself back, fighting like the caged animal she was. All the while, Dyre's grip never wavered, ever tight on her tiny wrist as he pondered just how it was he was going to punish her. He looked to her near empty quiver and contemplated stabbing an arrow into her neck. In hindsight, though, that seemed much to easy and lenient.  
"Syra," he called up to her. "I have decided not to kill this one. Instead, I will break your little sparrow."  
"Dyre," warned that ancient tone, though he could swear the irritation in it was all that of his sister's. He paid no heed to her warning, to the approaching footsteps, snapping the tiny wrist he held like the twig before releasing her. Ross screamed in pain as she fell at his feet.  
"Bastard," snarled his sister's thief as the male tackled him.  
He laughed maniacally, now in arm's reach of someone much closer to Syra than the archer.  
"You broke her," the thief snarled, driving his fists into Dyre's face.  
Dyre caught those fists easily, smirking up at the angry man.  
"Who do you refer to?" he asked. "My sister or your little pet there? Because either way, it was a very easy task."  
He threw the thief off of him, rising to his feet. He looked to Syra.  
"If you are listening, my dear sister, you have won this battle of Riften. I admit defeat. I will allow you time to regroup and then I demand your illustrious presence in Windhelm. I warn you, the longer you take, the more innocent people I will not hesitate to kill."  
And then, despite being surrounded by many of the Fighters Guild's best, he managed to avoid each as he escaped. Syra let him go. Or more accurately, Nocturnal did, her dominant nature putting her in the most control of their host.  
"Why did you let him go?" demanded Syra.  
Nocturnal smiled, the gesture a bit more daunting while wearing someone else's flesh.  
"Defeat him here and it will mean nothing. But he no doubt has people in Windhelm that would pick up his cause. Defeat him there and crush what allies he has."  
"And what about Rossara? You had to know he'd go after her."  
Syra was rather insistent, a fact that had Nocturnal sulking a bit. She preferred a level of deference but she really couldn't hurt this body. Not seriously. Nocturnal leapt from the roof, flinching at the harsh impact.  
"I did and while I could have stopped him, the only way would have been to kill him."  
Lilith was crouching beside Rossara, observing the girl's wrist, Brynjolf hovering nearby.  
"Get out of me, monster," Syra hissed but Nocturnal ignored her, joining them.  
Lilith must have been back to her mind reading tricks because she looked to Syra, her eyes wide.  
"You let this happen," she accused.  
"I did," Nocturnal admitted.  
Rossara glared at her, hatred in her eyes.  
"Syra!" Lilith objected.  
"Nocturnal, leave!" Syra yelled, her voice trapped inside.  
Nocturnal shrugged, nonchalantly.  
"If I killed him here, it would mean nothing. It would achieve nothing."  
She smiled.  
"Are you serious?"  
Rossara stood, struggling a bit.  
"I can't shoot a bow like this!" she screamed. "I'm dead weight. I'll be off my feet for months. And you let this happen to send a message!?"  
"No."  
Brynjolf was looking at her, suspicion in his gaze.  
"Syra didn't let it happen."  
"What nonsense are you spouting?" Lilith demanded.  
"Lilith in all the time you've known her, have you seen Syra smile?" he asked.  
Nocturnal dropped the smile from her lips but she was already caught. Lilith's wide eyed stare was now a glare.  
"Whichever of you thinks it okay to reside in my friend, you best get out now."  
Nocturnal sighed, rolling her eyes and letting them bleed black again.  
"Very well."  
Syra's mouth opened wide and a dark cloud tore from it, twisting out and vanishing into the air at the same time that a bright light seeped from her skin, vanishing just as fast. Spent, Syra fell to her knees, lifting her head a bit to look at Rossara.  
"I'm sorry," she managed. "If I had know what would happen, if I'd had any control, I would have stopped them."  
"Its a little late for sorry," Rossara snapped.  
Before Syra could say another word, the Breton stormed away. Brynjolf rested a hand on Syra's shoulder , giving it a quick squeeze before he went after Rossara. Which left Syra with Lilith. The Altmer lowered herself to her knees, pulling Syra in for a hug. She was surprised when Syra hugged her back.  
"I thought you were dead," Syra whispered.  
Lilith smiled.  
"Syra, I love you," she admitted, pulling back from Syra's grip.  
She locked eyes with the Halfling.  
"But I couldn't die knowing you'd be running loose across Tamriel. No offense. And your mother is horrible at small talk."  
"Where is my mother?" Syra asked.  
"Guarding the temple," Lilith replied. "I figured it might get too confusing having three vampires running around."  
"Speaking of vampires," Syra mumbled, looking around.  
She caught sight of Serana who was waiting nearby, hood pulled over her head and holding Dyre's pin in her hand. The one that he'd used to expel Mara. She'd question the logic of that later. Her focus was on something else as the vampire made her way over.  
"How am I alive?" she asked. "He practically ripped my throat open."  
Serana responded with a shrug.  
"I'm as curious about that as you," she admitted.  
"Maybe the force of two different magics healed you," Lilith reasoned. "I mean, I was produced by two differing magics and I'm near immortal."  
"I'm not even going to question it. I'm just going to be happy that I'm alive and move on."  
Syra pointed at the pin in Serana's hands.  
"Why was that able to push a Divine out of me?" she asked. "Usually they leave when they're good and ready to."  
Lilith took the pin, turning it over in her hand.  
"I can't tell you where it came from," Lilith admitted. "Maybe some artifact of Molag Bal. Whatever it is, I can feel Daedric Magic weaved within it."  
Her brow furrowed.  
"Its something that shouldn't be in the hands of anyone of this world," she added.  
"So, what do we do with it?" Serana asked. It was Lilith's turn to shrug.  
"I have no idea. Short of opening an Oblivion gate, there's no real way to send it away."  
Syra took it from her, studying the craftsmanship.  
"Let me carry it," she offered. "I'm use to Molag Bal's power and it may come in handy later."  
When she faced Dyre, though she didn't say so, both women understanding what she meant. They watched in silence as Syra tucked the pin in her pocket.  
The pin was out of sight but not out of mind. It echoed in her mind, as she tried to see where it fit in the jumbled mess that was the world's current state.


	27. Identity Crisis

(Syra)  
The pin reeked of Molag Bal's influence, his power as familiar to me as Nithrogr's. It had been the odor that settled on everything in Coldharbour. Had I still had possession of my old armor, I had a feeling it would reek very much like the pin did. What made no sense to me was the pin was not of the Oblivion realm. It was a normal, man made trinket but one that had pushed a god from my body. Dyre was a lot stronger than I'd thought, especially now when he had an entire Hold at his mercy. While I had concern for Windhelm, I had problems to face here in Riften, namely at Goldenglow Estate, the face of which was Zeno and a scattering of his men. They hid it but I could see fear buried in their faces where I'd once seen respect and camaraderie. Lilith did not seem bothered, walking past them as they stood gathered in a small crowd, Zeno addressing them. At least he had been before Serana, Lilith and I had appeared in the distance. Namely me. Serana followed in Lilith's wake, as unbothered as the Altmer mage was but I felt weighed down by their stares, pausing to look at Zeno. He watched me, wary, as if he didn't know what I would do anymore. I had no idea what to say, no idea what would make it better. Gancolm stepped forward, which surprised me. He always struck me as a quiet man that did not lead but simply followed, his bulk but follower tendencies somewhat solidifying that opinion. But he waded through his brothers in arms, passing even Zeno and stopping in front of me.  
"Well, sapling," he said. "I think you cheated me."  
He offered me a grin, one that surprised me. I flushed, not sure how exactly to deal with the warring emotions inside.  
"Thank you, Gancolm," I whispered and he nodded at me before he stepped out of my way.  
Zeno offered me a weak smile as I continued on. It was a start, I decided. I headed inside, more feelings stirred up as I came upon Lilith. Goldenglow felt more like home to me than anywhere else. It had,in such a short time, become my normal. To see Lilith in that setting, it just reminded me of the fact that my only friend in this world had very nearly been lost to me. And those thoughts made me ache. Serana was sitting at a table, a sad expression on her face. I made my way to her, sitting in the free chair.  
"I don't suppose I can ask my questions now?"  
She looked my way.  
"Later," she said. "I will answer everything later."  
"At least tell me how my brother knows you," I demanded.  
I was never one for delayed gratification, never liking to wait when something was right in my sight.  
"I was sealed in there for a long time with what's known as an Elder Scroll. It was suppose to hold the evidence of a prophecy that my father wanted. My mother didn't want him to have it, didn't want to encourage the monster he was anymore. She hid me away to keep me safe and I've been asleep ever since."  
I excercised what little patience I had and she continued, much to my relief.  
"Dyre woke me up long enough to steal the Elder Scroll and taunt me with it. And then he said he'd be back when he found my mother right before sealing me away again," she replied.  
She faced me and I knew there was more to it but I wouldn't push her. I at least knew the basics.  
"Would your father help us stop him?" I asked.  
"His help would come with a price," Serana informed me.  
I gritted my teeth in annoyance. We needed allies. Whiterun was cut off from us, full of Stormcloaks who probably didn't know about Ulfric being a puppet. And Windhelm was held hostage. I would not leave Riften defenseless and Solitude, well... wait, Solitude. Serana was watching me, an eyebrow raised as if she could see my mind's inner workings.  
"I can see where you're going with this," Lilith said, joining the conversation. "And I don't like it."  
"Lilith, the Thalmor-"  
"The Thalmor want me dead and aren't gonna be happy to see me."  
"But that's just it. The Thalmor that attacked Winterhold were not real Thalmor agents. They were part of Dyre's cult."  
"His cult that worships Alduin," Lilith argued. "I spoke to some of those men, the Stormcloaks. Alduin has visited the Hold, when he thought no one would see him. And anyone that saw mysteriously died or vanished. Dyre has taken pains to hide Alduin's presence. And if Alduin is going along with his plan, there's a good chance that other dragons will be on his side!"  
"Then let's recruit some dragons," I threw back, rising.  
"As if its that easy," Lilith berated me.  
"I'll make them if I have to!" I declared.  
"They fear Alduin more than they fear you," Lilith stated, matter of factly.  
"Then let me show them how fearsome I can be."  
Lilith just shook her head, clearly not wanting to get into this with me. We hadn't even been reunited a full day before bickering.  
"Lilith, please help me. I have to stop Dyre and Alduin."  
She stared at me, various emotions crossing her face. On one hand, I was Dragonborn. Stopping Alduin was my destiny. On the other, I was her friend and she wanted me alive and safe.  
"You can't talk to Odahviing," she said finally. "He doesn't have that much pull among the dragons. But there is one dragon who does."  
"Don't you dare try to be mysterious. Tell me."  
"I'll do you one better," Lilith assured me. "I'll take you to him."

 

(General)  
"Ross?"  
She ignored Brynjolf's call, staring into the woods.  
"I can't shoot a bow," she said. "I probably can't hold a sword. This slows me down."  
Brynjolf lifted himself onto the roof, taking a seat next to her.  
"Shouldn't you be with your little elf?"  
"Ross, don't be like that."  
Brynjolf nudged her.  
"I'm going to take care of my own. And you are my own."  
Rossara scooted away from him, making a face.  
"Just go away, okay?" she snapped. "I'm in no mood. All these risks you've been taking, all these risks you've exposed me to, all for her. And look, I got hurt. Like I knew would happen."  
"And I plan to take out that son of a bitch who hurt you," Brynjolf promised her.  
"You don't get it!"  
She sounded desperate and she knew it but it had to be said.  
"Bryn, she's going to get you killed," Rossara declared, meeting his eyes. "Please, Bryn, don't get yourself killed. Not for a piece of tail."  
"Ross, I see her and more than just below the belt aches," Brynjolf said. "I don't know what it means but I intend to find out."  
"Bryn-"  
"Ross, I was wrong to get you involved. That ends. Stay at the estate, stay safe and heal. I'm going with her."  
Ross sat back, knowing she couldn't change his mind.  
"Take her to Faendal, get her some archery training," Ross advised. "She may need it."  
"Even if she needed it, she won't take it," Brynjolf chuckled. "She's stubborn like that."  
He hopped off the roof, landing carefully.  
"Bryn!" Ross called.  
He turned, looking up at her.  
"Yes, lass."  
"Don't die, Bryn," she said. "Please. Don't die."

 

"I've been waiting for you."  
She had enjoyed the quiet, having sent Ivana after Cicero and settling into one of the chairs by the fire. She had thought she was easy enough to find. And she was right as Syra fell into the one next to her.  
"Nocturnal told me you were alive," Syra remarked. "I was going to come get you."  
Hekth shook her head.  
"As good as we raised you, whoever those men were, they were strong. Your friend Lilith had a hard enough time fighting through them"  
Syra leaned her head in her hand, staring into the fire.  
"I will find a way to cure you," she declared.  
Hekth smiled.  
"I have been a vampire so long, Syra, it no longer bothers me. I will still serve Sithis regardless of what I am."  
Syra made a sound of acknowledgment and Hekth took a moment to study the woman before her, the woman that had replaced her eager and carefree daughter. This woman had much bigger things on her mind than mere contracts. She was not thinking how best to fill a contract, how quickly to do so. She instead balanced the fate of the world in her mind, thinking of how many lives would cease if she did not succeed, many of which would be snuffed out by the Brotherhood irregardless, at some point or another.  
'Arnan, look at what our daughter has become,' she thought, praying that her words would reach him in the Void.  
That he could see what Syra had become. And be as proud as she was. Hekth rose, closing what little distance was between her and Syra, wrapping her arms around her daughter. Syra tensed, for just a second, breaking Hekth's heart. Sithis only knew what she'd gone through since they last saw each other, what horrors made her afraid to touch someone else. It made her hold her daughter tighter and Syra forced herself to relax into the embrace.  
"You're too like your father," Hekth whispered. "A hero at heart."  
"Father was a terrible romantic," Syra retorted and Hekth couldn't help the grin on her face.  
"Your father was an odd man," she agreed.  
Hekth smoothed her fingers through Syra's long hair.  
"At least one of his children inherited his Nord heart."  
"He was raised by elves," Syra pointed out.  
"He was a Nord through and through, without all the prejudices and aversions to my kind," Hekth corrected.  
She reluctantly drew back, tilting Syra's face upwards so she could look into those ice blue eyes. They broke her heart that much more, reminding her so much of Arnan's.  
"And I see you have found your own Nord," she remarked casually.  
Syra hid her emotions well but Hekth was a master at reading people and smirked at that faint reddening of Syra's light gray skin.  
"Mother, please, not now," Syra requested.  
Hekth didn't respond vocally, choosing instead to arch an eyebrow. Her smirk said it all though and she held back a laugh when Syra shook her off, rising.  
"We're going to see the Greybeards," Syra informed her. "I want you to stay here in case Dyre comes back."  
"Ordering your mother around now?" Hekth chuckled. "I am the Listener you know."  
Syra had headed for the door but she paused in before stepping through, looking back at Hekth.  
"I'm not an assassin anymore," she informed her.  
A part of Hekth had guessed. The Brotherhood was too limited a world for some of the children. They wanted more but were usually so deeply loyal to their family in the Sanctuary that they weren't much of a danger to the family. She just never thought Syra would be among their ranks.  
"Then what are you?" she asked.  
Syra smirked.  
"Isn't it obvious? I'm the Dragonborn."

 

(Syra)  
"You still in?" I asked.  
Serana was waiting for me. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself it seemed and looked really uncomfortable if I left her for too long.  
"I have nothing better to do," she admitted, matching my strides.  
"That's the spirit," Lilith remarked.  
She awaited us at the stables but Shadowmere remained unsaddled. As did the rest of the horses.  
"We're not riding?" I asked, concerned.  
"I'm under the impression that time is of the essence," Lilith replied. "I can teleport us to the town just below the Throat of the World but we'll have to make our way up to see the Greybeards."  
"We don't have time," Serana objected.  
"The way to Paarthurnax is blocked by strong winds and only the Greybeards know a way up. So, yes, we have time."  
Lilith crossed her arms, ready to challenge whatever argument Serana threw her way next. Serana just sighed, flipping her hood onto her head and leaning against a tree.  
"Where's Farkas?" I asked as I approached.  
It had been a question on my mind for awhile. The chaos had died down. I knew Farkas, knew that he'd be at Lilith's side as soon as possible  
"He's indisposed at the minute," was Lilith's vague answer, her body language telling me she didn't want to talk about it further.  
"Is he alright?" I asked, the first of many questions I had if she didn't give me a clear answer at first.  
Lilith nodded.  
"We'll be able to see him when this is all over," was all she said.  
“What happened to you two?”  
She fixed me with a look mixed with annoyance. And I sent one back that said the questions would not stop. I'd eventually wear her down. And she knew it, sighing  
"Right before she was going to pull us into her realm, my mother was pulled away. Luckily, my father was able to gather his strength and draw us into his," Lilith explained. "Only the strongest of the Nine and the Daedra can do that. But once we were no longer on Nirn, the others took notice."  
"What happened?"  
"They all have a reason to want Alduin gone. To want this world to exist. And apparently, you're taking too long to defeat him. So, until Alduin no longer exists, Farkas will be trapped, as a wolf."  
Another story of how the higher beings made life that much harder. I chose not to bring it up, at least not to the daughter of two of them.  
"We will get him back to himself," I swore.  
Meaning I had to defeat Alduin quickly.  
"I sent him to Whiterun to hide amongst the Circle," Lilith informed me.  
"Its probably the safest place for him," I agreed.  
Her gaze went to Serana.  
"And is it really safe for her to come with us?" she asked. "You're the Dragonborn. I'm near immortal. But what does she have to do with anything?"  
"She's got a bone to pick with Dyre," I replied and I'd leave it at that.  
Lilith nodded and I try as I might, I didn't feel the familiar whispers of her stirring in my mind.  
"Ready to go?" she asked, rather than push the Serana topic, her gaze returning to me.  
I nodded, waving Serana closer. She pushed off the tree, approaching.  
"I warn you, Fast Travel is kind of heady," Lilith warned Serana who nodded that she understood.  
"Thanks for the tip, lass."  
I tensed, fighting the urge to jump. He'd snuck up on me, me who had been raised to always be attuned to ones surroundings. If Mother could see me, she'd be ashamed. The cocky thief swung an arm around my shoulder, drawing me against his bulk, a move that did not go unnoticed by Lilith. One of her eyebrows rose in curiosity, though she didn't voice it.  
"You're coming?" she asked.  
"I figure its best to get out of Mercer's sight for a bit, actually act like I'm doing something worthwhile that's not work."  
"Because being a thief is so worthwhile," Lilith grumbled, rolling her eyes.  
Still, she lifted her hands and I could feel magic surround us, Lilith's violet eyes glowing with an ominous aura. I didn't have time to question it, a darkness seemingly slamming down, cutting off all my senses. Understandably, I panicked, lost in the black. All I could feel was Brynjolf's arm, the feel of his bulk at my hip. And that he was just as tense as I which meant his senses were temporarily taken as well. And just as fast as our senses had been taken, they were returned with startlingly intensified results and we stood outside a small village. I closed my eyes, unable to handle the glare of the sun. Before I closed myself off entirely, I noticed Serana sinking deeper into her hood, wondering if I'd be able to acquire one of those myself. I chose not to focus on that too much.  
"I told you. Fast travel is kind of heady," Lilith was saying, her voice echoing in my ears, sounding hollow.  
"Heady implies something I can get a rush from," Brynjolf griped beneath his breath.  
I cracked a smirk and opened my eyes, slowly, adjusting, bit by bit, to the sun. It wasn't quite as bright now to my relief. Lilith was trying to coax Serana out of her hood or perhaps just to open her eyes as well. I turned my focus to Brynjolf who was still cringing, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. There was still a hollow echo in my ears but at least my vision wasn't over sensitive.  
"Brynjolf," I said, voice low. "Open your eyes."  
I turned so that I was square with him and rested my hands on either side of his head, massaging his temples. What I had only meant as a simple gesture of help somehow became more intense, at least for me as my mind started over analyzing the situation. This man before me loved me, had kissed me. It was such an outlandish idea that just touching him like this was odd to me. I was definitely overthinking it.  
"Is that better?" I asked, softly.  
He opened his eyes slightly, stunning me with the remarkable green. His lips quirked.  
"Better," he replied. "Thanks Syra."  
I dropped my hands and turned quickly. Lilith had successfully convinced Serana to at least fix her hood but the vampire still looked sullen. I didn't blame her. She had only just been unsealed from a tomb and thrust into the heat of battle. Leaving Brynjolf, I went to her side and she seemed grateful for it, more at ease with me than with Lilith. Although the same seemed true of Lilith when it came to Brynjolf and Serana. Even now, Lilith's odd charm was nonexistent as she scanned the faces of the curious villagers. We'd appeared from nowhere and I didn't fault their stares.  
"Are you okay?" I asked Serana beneath my breath.  
Lilith started walking and I caught Serana's hand, the reaction automatic, leading her after the on edge mage.  
"Yeah," Serana replied, squeezing my hand.  
She almost didn't want to, as if she'd resolved not to and her body had just reacted. She made a face and it didn't go unnoticed.  
"In the cave, when you drank my blood. Did that-"  
"Form a bond?" Serana asked, not my exact words but close enough so I just nodded.  
Distress flashed across her face,briefly.  
"I see these memories," she admitted finally. "Have been since the blood woke me. It almost feels like they're mine. I wish they were mine."  
There was a wistful edge to her voice and I wished the same.  
"And I feel... better when you're around," Serana went on. "When you went to talk to your mother and I strayed outside, just to stretch my legs, I didn't feel right."  
I couldn't sympathize. All I knew was that around Serana, I felt whole, a piece of myself returned to me that I hadn't known I was missing. Maybe when I'd given her my blood, woken her from her long sleep for the second time, maybe I'd given her a piece of myself. I voiced the idea, whispering it to her, though I could sense a certain nosy thief hovering nearby, trying to hear.  
"Maybe," Serana admitted.  
Whatever bond was between us, if it truly existed, the negative effects were one sided. I didn't have time to worry about that, aware that Lilith was leading us across a bridge. And ahead, carved into the very mountain were steps, albeit old ones.  
"What the hell," I whispered, admittedly in awe at the prospect of so many to get to one temple.  
"The old Nords love their architect," Lilith remarked and Brynjolf chuckled.  
"That we do," he bragged, proud.  
"And we have to climb all these?" I griped.  
Fast travel was not a pleasant experience but it had gotten us here faster than horseback would have. It could have gotten us up the mountain too.  
"The village is one thing," Lilith was explaining. "But the mountain is the home of a dragon. A very old, very powerful dragon. His mere presence could affect the magic needed for Fast travel and we could just as easily have been left on some random mountain's edge. This is as close as I could get without risking that."  
She turned, eyeing us as a unit.  
"Is that what you want?"  
I almost argued, just for the sake of arguing but Serana squeezed my hand, her gaze solely for the mountain we were about to climb.  
"Every step means we're closer to stopping Dyre," she reminded me, though her words just seemed like a general reminder.  
I spared her a glance and then looked at the mountain.  
"I use to be an assassin," I mumbled, mostly to myself though my vampiric other half clearly heard me. "Now I'm more intent on saving lives then ending them."  
She was completely serious which made her next words that much worse.  
"Well then, you kind of suck at your job."  
Her tone was dry as she dropped my hand, an air of indifference around her as she started up the mountain.  
"You say the word and I'll push her off the mountain," Brynjolf whispered to me from behind.  
"Don't tempt me," I replied.  
He smirked, falling into step beside me.  
"I'm all about temptation," he joked, nudging me, as if I didn't get his vulgar implication.  
"I'm beginning to see why Lilith doesn't like you," I remarked.  
He had a tendency to speak in riddles and innuendos. And so long as they weren't at my expense, I found them rather amusing.  
"Lilith is a wee bit prissy," Brynjolf chuckled, loud enough for all to hear which earned him a glare from Lilith.  
He didn't seem scared.  
"You know when she first got to town, before she caught onto my game, she use to get real red in the face and huff off when I confused her. Which was a lot," he bragged.  
"Brynjolf, there are a lot of steps on this mountain," Lilith called back. "I suggest you save your breath and strength, lest you overexert yourself."  
"Lass, I have stamina for days," he returned with, grinning.  
My response was automatic, a thought that bypassed the logic part of my mind and just rolled out, part of the seduction lessons that had been drilled into me as a child.  
"We'll have to put that to the test sometime."  
It surprised him just as much as it surprised me and he stared at me, his shock all over his face. Slowly though, his features relaxed.  
"I'm ready whenever you are," he said, his tone low and intimate.  
He wasn't teasing anymore, his expression soft. Without another word, I sprinted up the steps, away from him and past Lilith and Serana, taking the lead. After that, the walk up was quiet.

 

There were too many steps and I was mentally cursing Lilith for not letting me bring a horse Or not just transporting us right to the front door. The higher we went up, the thinner the air became. And the colder. I was shivering in only my armor without a cloak or even layers of them to keep me warm. Serana didn't seem to mind the weather, nor did Brynjolf or Lilith. Then again, she was holding a fireball in hand, the heat probably keeping her warm.  
"Any chance of you throwing that my way," I requested, indicating the fire ball.  
"We're almost there," she replied, smiling at my shivering.  
Serana glanced at me as well. She'd had some straight forward determination, barely noticing when I'd fallen behind again. My stamina could use some work when it came to movement. It was no issue to crouch in place for hours, lying in wait. But it was another matter entirely ascending a mountain. Serana offered me a gentle smile, one that promised mercy. I almost cried in relief as she unpinned her cape from her armor, offering the black material to me.  
"Thank you," I said, accepting and wrapping it tightly around myself.  
It was surprisingly thick and I tugged the hood over my head. It feel in my eyes, temporarily blinding me, which made the roar that reached my ears that much more jarring.  
"Shit," I heard Brynjolf say.  
Pushing the hood away, I saw a troll charging us. Shit was right as the white furred beast lopped towards us. Lilith's fireball pulsed with gathering energy which she threw its way, Serana's chain of lightning following behind it. It slowed for a second before it continued on, both Lilith and Serana gathering magic to themselves in order to throw another attack. It swung itself with reckless abandon, knocking Serana back with its surprising bulk. She slid down the mountain a bit,clearly surprised that she had lost ground so easily. I charged in, knowing that hand to hand combat was not an option against this brute. I reached for magic, some trace of the Divine or the Daedra, pausing in shock when I realized that there was none. That this place was untouched by their magic or influence, as if any potential meddling, or trace of meddling, had already been absorbed. The troll roared, hitting me back with as much ease at it had Serana. I hit the snow, hissing at the shock of cold. Hands seized my arms, yanking me up. I realized it was Serana, helping me up. I took it in stride, darting towards the troll. If I couldn't kill it, I was sending it off the mountain. Lilith sensed my thoughts and yelled for Brynjolf to move. He didn't question her, dodging right as I opened my mouth. The force ripped its way out of me, accompanied by the same words in a deeper voice. Two shouts hit the troll, the force of both crushing the troll before my eyes. It managed one last roar before the life was literally crushed from its body.  
"What in Oblivion was that?" Serana asked, unable to see the iron clad warrior who stood a few feet ahead of us.  
He stared down at us, positioned perfectly to do just that. Within me, Nithrogr reacted and a feeling of defense seized me. She was urging me to be wary. His eyes zeroed in on me, confusion in them though didn't question it, turning and heading back up the mountain.  
"High Hrothgar is that way," Lilith informed us.  
"Good," I said, filled with renewed energy.  
I didn't wait for the others, sprinting after the mysterious warrior. I wanted answers and I didn't plan to wait for them.

 

(General)  
Lilith welcomed the heat of High Hrothgar. What she hadn't expected was the awaiting Grey Beards. They were usually only knowledgeable when it came to the Dragonborn. She looked at Syra on the sly as the Halfling shed the cape Serana had offered. As Lilith had predicted, the vampire hovered nearby Syra's side, bound by blood. Lilith didn't much care for vampires, a distaste drilled into her by her mother, so she couldn't wait until whatever bond had diminished and the vampire no longer felt obligated to remain with them. The same could be said of the thief, who didn't comprehend how serious things were and still cast jokes like she cast spells.  
"Arngeir," Lilith greeted, bowing her head in respect.  
He returned the bow  
"Arch-Mage," he replied, his voice soft.  
Her nerves still stood on end. There was so much power in his voice.  
"I've brought the Dragonborn," she informed him, gesturing to Syra.  
The iron clad warrior snorted, crossing his arms and Lilith threw a glare at him, flames flickering around her fingers. He hid the snort behind a fake cough, looking away.  
"There is a mistake," Arngeir declared.  
He was staring at Syra, his old eyes seeing something Lilith had missed.  
"She is not the Dragonborn."


	28. His Last Daughter

(General)  
"Excuse me?"  
Syra's response was immediate. And predictably hostile. Her eyes went to Lilith, as if to say "fix this."  
"Why do you say that?" Lilith asked.  
Arngeir gestured to the warrior.  
"Because Steinar is the Dragonborn," he explained. "He has withstood our collective Thu'um and the soul of the dragon of the north is within him."  
"He's not complete," Syra declared, drawing the attention of the room to her.  
She was watching Steinar, her eyes holding a touch of ancient intelligence within them. Lilith could see the dragon within her and she didn't believe for a second that Syra wasn't Dragonborn. Arngeir studied her, a look of recognition on his weathered face.  
"By the Nine," he whispered, approaching her.  
She tensed but didn't move as he stared into her eyes.  
"Nithrogr," he said, in his forever soft tone.  
Syra's eyes flashed in the dim light, reflecting the torch light.  
"Yes," she replied.  
The old Nord drew in a deep breath.  
"Steinar, you must take them to see the Master," he said after a moment.  
"What?" Steinar demanded, surprised.  
"You heard him," Lilith replied with, smug.  
She crossed her arms, facing off with the alleged Dragonborn.  
"To the top of the mountain we go."  
She heard Syra swear under her breath and the snap of fabric as she donned the cape again. It didn't matter though. They were in motion again and that was all that mattered.

 

(Syra)  
Back into the cold and this time, the weather was worse, snow lifted on the heavy mountain breezes.  
"Its a waste for you to go see the Master," Steinar grouched. "He's just going to tell you the same thing Arngeir did."  
I said nothing in response to that, though some of my confidence had evaporated when the old Nord had said I wasn't Dragonborn. That couldn't be right though. My soul was merged with that of a dragon, a female dragon but a dragon nonetheless. I could Shout though I'd learned that some were just talented in the way of the voice. And I could change into a dragon. If I wasn't Dragonborn, then what was I? While I struggled internally, silent in my thoughts, Brynjolf was not as quiet, voicing objections of his own that I suspected he'd held back on saying to Arngeir.  
"I've seen this lass do some pretty impressive things," he argued. "Her... shouting being the least of them all. If your shouts are all you've got, it seems you're a one trick pony."  
Steinar cast a glare in his direction but said nothing more, choosing to continue trudging across the frozen earth. The path ahead was blocked by swirling mists, the winds stronger and I had no doubt that they'd throw us from the mountain top. Steinar did not share my doubts, striding towards them. I had no doubt that he was some legendary warrior. He held himself with confidence, a Nord through and through. Even in weather that froze my blood, his arms were bare, revealing bulging muscles typical of a hardy Nord. Warriors were built big in all the ways that it counted. As flexible and prone to grace as he was, Brynjolf had a typical Nord's body as well. But Steinar was just... there was more to him. Meanwhile, I was scrawny and that was being generous. I had Nord blood in me but I'd taken after my Dunmer mother more. And still, I was shorter than her, my weight staying relatively the same despite what I ate and exercise made no difference. I just seemed forever trapped in this one state of being, a scrawny innocent looking whelp with scars both inside and out. At first glance, even I would doubt me.  
"Lok Vah Koor!"  
The shout startled me, the echoing sound drawing me from my thoughts. Steinar stood before the winds which were rapidly clearing, banished by his power. He seemed to sense my shock, smirking back at me.  
"You're a small thing," he remarked, grinning my way. "And you're trying to claim to be the Dragonborn?"  
He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.  
"Do you intend to belittle me all the way up the mountain?" I snapped.  
"If I had any personal intentions toward you, it would be to blast you off this mountain," Steinar confessed.  
I didn't think, I just moved, not appreciating the threat. I didn't get far, my waist caught and held by Serana and her inhuman strength as she put herself between the arrogant Nord and myself.  
"Look," she said, addressing Steinar. "Even if you are the legendary Dragonborn and Syra is not, what good does going in alone do you? Your whole purpose is to save lives before Alduin devours the world and Alduin just so happens to have a strong hold on Windhelm. Which is filled with vampires. Do you really think you can cut your way through all of them and still battle Alduin?"  
Her question was met with silence, probably because for all their talk, Nords were uncertain when it came to vampires and werewolves. And anything else they didn't understand. And I got the feeling the Greybeards hadn't informed him that he'd be dealing with the undead.  
"Good," Serana said, not sounding smug at all. "Now let's go."  
She released me, still tense. My eyes were only on Steinar whose throat moved as if he was swallowing something and realization hit me as I realized that he'd intended to act on his intentions and shout me off the mountain, a fall I might not have survived. No wonder Serana had grabbed me, probably intent on going with me. She would be fine and I'd have a chance, as long as her grip held. Or I turned into a dragon. I'd keep that under my sleeve for as long as possible.  
"Thank you," I whispered to Serana and she nodded in return.  
Steinar scoffed but continued leading us upwards, shouting every so often. Serana stayed directly behind him and in front of me, my own personalized shield in case he got any ideas. Brynjolf brought up the rear and Lilith fell into step beside me.  
"I learned something, on the island where I found your mother," Lilith whispered to me.  
I glanced her way, urging her to go on. Now that the excitement had died down, the cold was back. And it was harder to breath. Was I out of shape?  
"The first Dragonborn, the one who started it all, he had a temple there. I never saw it myself and its suppose to be in ruins besides."  
"Then why are you telling me this?"  
"Because I hear the whispers," Lilith explained. "And they say that the first Dragonborn never truly died. He held onto his soul. Or at least half his soul. And that each Dragonborn after, all the ones who inherit the half of Ysmir's soul taken back, aren't at full strength."  
"I think you put too much merit into whispers, Lilith," I remarked.  
"I've learned to separate the lies from the truth," she threw back. "I don't think they're wrong."  
My eyes trailed to Steinar. Was it possible that he only had half a soul?  
"His shout held up against mine," I argued.  
"But you're not a full dragon," Lilith pointed out. " You're a human soul that merged with a dragon's, as impossible as it sounds. Technically, you're half mortal, half dragon. Soul wise. I don't doubt that your lineage is that of a Mer and a Nord."  
"Well thanks for not doubting that," I said, sarcasm palpable.  
"Are you ladies done? Because we're here!" Stenair yelled back.  
I hadn't noticed that we had indeed reached the top of the mountain, my conversation with Lilith keeping me distracted. It was colder up here but the view was amazing as my gaze settled on the darkening sky, just catching the passing of large wings.  
"Lilith," I began, reaching blindly for her, my eyes tracking the wings.  
Inside me, I could feel Nithrogr stirring, as if she was raising her head in recognition of the dragon that suddenly dived towards us. A rush of excitement and fear filled me, my heart in my ears, muffling the sound of Brynjolf swearing in his own surprise. Just as my hand found Lilith, I dropped it, taking off away from the others, my eyes never leaving the dragon. His own speed increased as he dove and Nithrogr took hold, her will crushing my own as my body expanded, strong wings lifting me into the air.  
"Nithrogr," the dragon greeted, instinctively switching to that of the dragon tongue.  
I could see him in a different light, no longer afraid but more comforted by the closest a dragon would ever come to peaceful.  
"Paarthurnax," I greeted in the same tongue.  
It was hard to really separate myself from Nithrogr, her memories which she guarded with scale and claw flowing into me in these moments where she seized control, images of a never ending realm where time changed whether by slowing down or jumping forward or didn't change at all. I broke free of the memories though, the rush of them too much to handle without a headache. Paarthurnax's gaze went down and mine went with it, to the waiting mortals below. I could feel Nithrogr's slight annoyance, knowing she had to return control to me when she'd just so recently found kindred spirit amongst her own kind. My wings folded a bit, carrying me back to the ground with Paarthurnax following my lead, but it was my feet that touched the snowy ground, Nithrogr's influence retreating as fast as it had appeared. For my troubles, I was colder than when we'd arrived, hugging myself as I looked for Serana's cape which I'd discarded. Lilith shook her head, probably at my "antics" but she said nothing, greeting Paarthurnax in very much the same manner as Arngeir. Serana was staring at me, surprise in her eyes. I bet in all her years alive,she'd never witnessed a human become a dragon. I didn't bother checking on Steinar, more concerned with getting warm and locating the cape. It was black, compared to the shadow specked snow and should have been easy to find although it was a surprisingly difficult task to accomplish. I resigned myself to the cold after a few minutes of futile searching, jumping a bit when Brynjolf threw it around my body, pulling me into his grip. I went rigid against him but he kept his grip loose, his own body slightly tense as he waited to see how I reacted. I took a deep breath, drawing in his scent, reminding myself that this was not Dyre. He did not reek of death and stale blood. And he was warm beneath my fingers, producing some sort of Nord heat. Not as much as Farkas who was a werewolf but I stiffly managed to lean against him. He, on the other hand, relaxed.  
"You need to bathe," I mumbled to him, if only to curb his enthusiasm.  
I expected a joke, a flirty invitation even. Instead, he planted a stealthful kiss on my head, the gesture so light and quick that I'd have doubted it even happened had I been watching us. Which Paarthurnax most definitely was as he crawled his way towards us.  
"Nithrogr," he greeted in his grave voice, no longer speaking in the dragon's natural tongue.  
"I am called Syra," I amended. "At least when I look like this."  
I was curled against Brynjolf, warmer now and I didn't care to leave that heat. The dragon didn't seem to care.  
"Why have you come to me on this mountain?" he asked. "And how? You vanished from this world long ago."  
"Two decades to be exact," I agreed. "A Daedric Prince stole me, trapped me in his realm."  
Paarthurnax nodded his head, as if he had known where I'd gone.  
"Paarthurnax, I came here because I need to know. Am I the Dragonborn?" I asked.  
I wasn't very skilled when it came to reading dragon faces but I saw that he wasn't very surprised by the question, his response practically immediate.  
"You are a Dragonborn, but not that which this land regard in such high honor," he explained.  
I heard Lilith swear. No doubt she'd wanted to lord it over Steinar's head. He hadn't made the best impression.  
"Explain please," I requested.  
Paarthurnax nodded in agreement.  
"It was the dragon of the North, Ysmir chosen to be given the form of a mortal. He was first shaped into the body, Miraak."  
Something closed around my heart at the name but I swallowed the pain and shock, waiting for the dragon to continue. He did not disappoint.  
"Miraak once served the dragons when we ruled over mortals. He was a dragon priest and a strong one at that. And his power drove him mad. Somehow, he came upon a shout that allowed him to bend the very wills of the dragons he once served."  
The effect his words had on me was immediate, pain shooting its way up my spine. My knees buckled, my fingers curling in the fastenings of Brynjolf's armor as I nearly fell. He held me though it felt like I'd been crushed by a crate of heavy armor, the weight too much for my body, images flashing before my eyes. Paarthurnax was not blind to the sudden change but he kept going.  
"His temple was then destroyed by the very dragons he sought to control and sacrifice to further his power. The most legendary of his betrayals was to that of the dragon he served. Nithrogr."  
"Me?" I gasped out, looking desperately at Paarthurnax  
"It is why there are no more female dragons. Where we males all seek dominance, even among each other, the females of our species rallied behind a queen. Miraak slaughtered them all, sealing their souls within him, all save for you."  
I could feel Nithrogr's pain as she tried to force these memories away, rejecting them with her very being and protecting the memories that brought her joy and comfort. As a result, these same nightmares found their way into my mind. I could see it, as if it was happening before my very eyes.  
"He could not bring himself to kill you, who had treated him so fairly, though he had no qualms killing your brother and sisters. And you could not bring yourself to harm him. And so, you protected him. You, who were our father's favorite child. His last daughter. But still, something had to be done. His temple in ruins, he had no where left to hide. He was confronted by another Dragon Priest and you were summoned away by Akatosh himself."  
"And Miraak, he-"  
I paused, searching both memories as well as the feelings that Nithrogr had felt. She would know if Miraak had died, would have felt the emptiness that had come from the bond she'd forged with the first Dragonborn and the dragon soul within him. But there was no emptiness. He was alive.  
"He disappeared," I realized.  
Just like me.  
"The snake that had whispered fantasies of power into his ear was none other than Hermaeus Mora, who saved him before his defeat."  
My legs were working again, though admittedly wobbly, the initial shock wearing off though pain still echoed in my spine. I pushed away from Brynjolf.  
"Then how have there been any more Dragonborn? And what about me?"  
He was speaking to me as though I was just Nithrogr. Surely, there was still Syra within.  
"The destiny of the last Dragonborn has always lay within Ysmir. You are not the last Dragonborn. You are a special Dragonborn. You are a daughter of Akatosh, a child as much as we dragons. He gave you the soul of his strongest dragon."  
"So I could live," I agreed.  
Paarthurnax shifted, his body stirring up snow.  
"He is the Last Dragonborn," he said, gesturing undoubtedly to Steinar.  
"Then what am I?" I demanded.  
"You are the Lost Dragonborn."  
His answer was so simple. I don't know how I hadn't known before he said it. I was the Dragonborn really not suppose to exist, the one that had so much more power. And I was the one removed from history, from time and space, at the whim of a Daedric Prince.  
"If Miraak is still alive, then the Last Dragonborn only has half a soul," I recalled from my earlier conversation with Lilith.  
Who the heck were these whispers she'd heard and why had they shared such knowledge? What exactly did they want?  
"There was much to do, to save this world before Alduin returned. Much Ysmir could right. And so, our Father interfered, bargaining with Hermaeus Mora with the knowledge he possessed of you, Nithrogr. Of how much power you possessed," Paarthurnax explained. "He has waited your return eagerly for he knows that you will be drawn back to Miraak. And Miraak will not hesitate to destroy you, to steal your soul so that he may return to this world."  
I clutched my fists, gritting my teeth. Yet another enemy added to the list. I cast a glance at Steinar who crossed his arms over his chest, glaring when he saw me looking.  
"Is he strong enough to face Alduin as he is now?" I asked. "Would he win, with only half his soul?"  
Paarthurnax merely shook his head, the revelation a pained one.  
"He has to go face Miraak then? And kill him?"  
"Once his soul is whole, he will be able to face Alduin," Paarthurnax explained. "Not before."  
I nodded at those words.  
"Right then."  
I gave the old dragon a weak smile, steeled in my resolve.  
"Thank you, brother," I said, Nithrogr influencing my words.  
He nodded once more before I turned to face Lilith and the others, including Steinar in my collective gaze.  
"We're going after Miraak," I announced. "Any objections?"

 

(General)  
Pretense was thrown out the window. He strode to the throne, to the meat sack resting in said throne, the very meat sack whose mind was so warped by his control that he didn't even need to speak. The once mighty Ulfric Stormcloak rose, drawing the attention of his generals and captains alike. Under their gaze, Dyre ascended those brief steps, lowering himself comfortably onto the throne. Like mist, the Priestess was at his side. Her face was hidden by her mask, as always but he could sense her approval and her disappointment. Their game of pretend was over and she had so enjoyed it. Dyre liked this one more, liked the position of power it put him in.  
"Well, meat sacks," he greeted Ulfric's men.  
They didn't seem to like the name and he didn't care.  
"This Hold is now mine. If you find you have an objection with that, you are welcome to leave," he informed them. "If you choose to though, I will slaughter one citizen of this Hold. If you attempt to fight back, I will slaughter one citizen of this Hold. If you do anything I don't appreciate, well, you know where I'm going with this I assume."  
He grinned, revealing his fangs. They all stepped back, clearly shocked. How they hadn't seen this coming really surprised him. Meat sacks were so blind sometimes.  
"Go out and herd every little meat sack inside the city. And then barricade the doors," he ordered. "I want no one to leave."  
They moved with impressive speed, not eager or willing to carry out his bidding by any means. Just desperate. And he loved it.  
"What brought this on?" the Priestess asked.  
"I intend to bring Syra to our doorstop," he replied.  
She shook her head, chuckling.  
"She won't come here," the Priestess declared. "Not at first."  
Dyre chuckled.  
"I believe between the two of us, I know my sister better than you."  
Her face was,as always, hidden behind her mask and he longed to remove it, to see what face she cast his way so he could better read her intentions and her thoughts. In the world of intrigue and betrayal they lived in, she was his only ally. But her true allegiance lay with another and while they were allies today, they could very well be adversaries tomorrow. And he would never know the vile thoughts that twisted behind the ebony mask, a carved replica of the World Eater himself. She'd put a lot of work into it and he could feel the magic that radiated off of it. It fed him, made him stronger. And it kept Molag's hands off him, as long as he had the pin. Which he'd lost in Riften. No matter, the mask would keep him safe as long as he did not leave Windhelm and he had no intention of doing so.  
"My master watches her even now," the Priestess informed him. "In fact, she'll be walking right into his realm very soon."  
"I do not want Syra dead in some accursed realm."  
"If all goes well, my master will simply swap one dragonborn for another, a much rarer one," the Priestess said. "We'll just zap you there and you'll have an eternity to play."  
Dyre hid his smile with his fist, his eyes drilling holes into the mask's eye holes.  
"And what if I don't want to spend eternity in your master's realm?"  
The Priestess leaned in closer.  
"Where else do you think you can spend it? Where else will the exalted not hunt you?" she asked. "Because they are all after you, Dyre. Where else will you be safe?"

 

(SYRA)  
It was official. I hated boats. And Dawnstar. And the cold. But Lilith was adamant that she couldn't teleport us all the way to Solstheim. She'd gotten us to Dawnstar at least, gotten us a boat. But she couldn't do anything about the cold. Serana was tucked next to me, blocking, partially, the sea breezes as we departed Dawnstar. Lilith was watching Steinar and Brynjolf as they gambled with the idle sailors, just two Nords being, well, Nords I guess. The cold didn't seem to bother either.  
"Hey," Serana nudged me and I realized I'd been dozing just a bit.  
"Thank you," I said to her, though she ignored it.  
"Your memories are still in my head," she informed me.  
"I'm sorry. I know a lot of them are messed up-" I began.  
"I'm getting...emotions?"  
She seemed to struggle over the right words. Finally, she looked at me.  
"I'm trying to not delve too deep because they're not my memories but sometimes, one strong one will flare up."  
Something in her face made my insides twist and I didn't even know what she'd seen.  
"What did you see?" I asked.  
Serana hesitated to speak, probably trying to read me before she did. Trying to avoid upsetting me. It was almost laughable.  
"I saw Kaya."  
The frigid winds were nothing compared to the ice that filled my veins, hearing that cursed name again.  
"Alot of these memories, its like I'm in your head, watching the events happen but feeling what you felt at the same time," Serana hurried on. "I saw you two arguing, saw her attack and you kill her."  
Which is what had happened because Kaya wanted to be Listener rather than Keeper. She was so willing to hear the Night Mother in her head but not to keep the Night Mother in tip top shape.  
"That's when it happened, didn't it?" she asked. "When you started to question if you wanted to be an assassin? When maybe the honor of some higher being wasn't enough reason for all the blood on your hands."  
"I got over it," I said though she and I both knew I was lying.  
"You might not like what they've done but not all the Gods and Princes act with the intention of hurting us," Serana argued.  
Her lips quirked.  
"This from me, huh?" she laughed. "A daughter of Coldharbour. The question of faith was never something I struggled with. I know they're real and that they're there. And my father, he got so mad with power he started thinking he was a god. So, worship wasn't overly encouraged. But you grew up learning that the only one that mattered was Sithis."  
Serana smile turned my way.  
"I can't imagine that."  
"I lied when I told Cicero that anyone with necromancy could hear the Night Mother," I said. "It was the lie mother told me to use if ever I needed to. I haven't heard her since then and I think she only told me that because she knew one day I would denounce the Brotherhood."  
"Does that make you sad?" Serana asked.  
It was my turn to smirk at her.  
"Why are you so eager to talk about my feelings?"  
She shrugged, looking bashful.  
"I suppose I'm hungry for emotional clarity to sort through the onslaught I've picked up from you."  
"I'm afraid I can't give you the clarity you're looking for. I can barely handle my own, let alone explain them," I chuckled.  
"Is that why you and him," she nodded at Brynjolf. "Aren't all cozied up over here? He probably generates more heat."  
"You know me probably better than anyone in Skyrim," I replied. "So you already know why."  
Serana said nothing in response to that, rising with a low sigh. I almost asked where she was going but didn't, watching her approach Brynjolf and the sailors. She leaned against the ship's side, addressing Brynjolf and though I couldn't hear their conversation, something in Serana's posture made me uneasy, especially when she nodded at me. Brynjolf glanced my way and I knew what Serana had done, damn her. I cursed her even as he approached, taking a seat next to me where Serana had been.  
"Can't say I like vampires but she's alright in my book," he joked.  
"I'm contemplating her death," I replied.  
He laughed.  
"No you're not," he said. "You're more concerned with staying warm."  
"Shut up," I hissed, knowing he was right.  
"The captain's cabin is pretty warm," he suggested.  
A thought I'd contemplated, knowing it would get me out of the wind. Two things stopped me. One, I didn't want to go below deck and get use to the warmth, fearing that I'd freeze when it came time to emerge. Lilith had said we were bypassing the docks in town, a place called Raven Rock, in favor of a lesser known docking point that was on the colder part of the island. I chose not to argue on that point. The less people who knew my exact location, the better. The second thing preventing me was Steinar. He'd come reluctantly and only because Paarthurnax had suggested it. But he kept giving me odd glances and even the part of Nithrogr inside of me seemed wary. I didn't quite know his stance on dragons and I didn't want to test it now that he was away from the Greybeards that seemed to have a sort of controlling role in his personality.  
"I'm fine here," I lied.  
I could feel his eyes studying me and I faced him, meeting his green eyes. As much as he wished to come across as nonchalant and harmless as well as charming, I'd seen this part of him too much to underestimate him. Beneath the man he pretended to be, the one who had no cares in the world, he saw a lot more than he pretended to and he was actually quite smart. He'd be a deadly foe if it ever came to it, especially since Nocturnal allegedly had a thing for him. I couldn't quite figure her out either. She loved him and yet there had been no repercussions for our kiss or his admission. And I was waiting for there to be. Unless I was just a fling to him as well. His comment about pitying me did nothing for how irksome I felt with him though a part of me, a delusional part, kept wanting to believe his intentions to be pure.  
"Lass, you can tell me the truth," he said.  
I sighed, feigning resignment, if only to get him off my back.  
"I think I'm frozen to this spot," I grumbled, only a half lie.  
It was a thought that had crossed my mind but one I had dismissed in favor of logic. Still, Brynjolf laughed, if only to indulge me. And even as his deep chuckle filled my ears, drawing the attention of everyone on deck, I got the feeling he'd seen through my lie. Yes, he was dangerous indeed.


	29. Cold, werewolves and werebears oh my

(General)  
The dark was a constant, one he'd learned to read long ago. He knew when she appeared, disturbing the constant flow and he closed the book he held, turning to face her. Or her mask because that was the only face of hers he knew.  
"Priestess," he greeted with a nod.  
He knew she was smiling behind her accursed mask. She'd seen the book and knew what he sought.  
"Miraak, all these books and all this time you spend will never win you my identity," she laughed, taunting him.  
"I've been trapped in this abyss for so long, I need a way to make use of my time."  
The Priestess laughed.  
"Master and I both know what you do with your time."  
Her statement irked him, as if his motives were so obvious.  
"What do you want?" he demanded.  
"To warn you. Your old mistress and the Dragonborn are on their way to you. The other half of your soul," she informed him.  
Miraak barely heard her, all his focus on her dig.  
"My old mistress has not been of this world for thousands of years. Why would she be here now?"  
The Priestess laughed again, her shrill voice echoing in the empty recesses of Apocrypha.  
"Because once upon a time, a weak child was born to assassins so dedicated to Sithis that it shook Divine and Daedra alike when her father turned from him to plead for his child's life. And what is Akatosh if not a father who loved his last daughter, despite the fact that she is a traitor?"  
"She is no traitor," Miraak snarled, turning on the Priestess with his rage.  
She didn't seem intimidated, her posture casual though now he could sense the Lorkers hovering nearby. No doubt, they'd attack if he went after her.  
"She betrayed her kin for you," the Priestess taunted him. "But that is perhaps an argument for another time."  
"Why does she come for me?" Miraak demanded to know and he knew that behind her twisted mask, she grinned.  
"Why? To kill you, of course. To mend the soul that our master tore asunder."  
She cocked her head to the side, listening to whatever whispers made their way to her ears, the voices of the books she claimed they were. Either way, when they spoke, she listened. More importantly, she left to do their bidding and that meant he was alone. He hated Apocrypha, hated the darkness and the creatures that lurked in it, hated the dragons that circled overhead, wanting nothing more than to turn the tables and eat his soul just as he had many of their kin when he'd rebelled. When Mora had whispered the secrets that would allow him to rebel against his dragon masters so long ago, he'd jumped at the chance and had taken to deception and falsehood with ease. And his reward was the haunting realm that swirled around him, a kingdom of knowledge that led nowhere. Mora had eyes everywhere, many watching Miraak, watching his progress as he sought out anything that might answer the questions he had, namely the identity of the Priestess. And when he suspected he was onto something or when he perhaps got too close to the answers he sought, the library rearranged itself, burying its secrets deeper within the eerie blackness. There were few places Mora's eyes did not roam. If it was true, if his other half was coming after him, he would not go down without a fight, mistress or no mistress.

 

She hadn't meant to sleep but somehow it happened. It was to be expected. Her last bit of rest had come the night before they'd cast off for Skyrim from Raven Rock. And since then, her magic had gone into distracting the guards from her werewolf husband as well as the some very hefty spells, not limited to fast travel. So when Syra shook her awake, hours later, she found that the headache she'd been nursing was gone.  
"We're here?" she asked, stifling a yawn.  
She felt that was rather obvious, the biting cold nipping at her fingers and face. She'd gotten use to the chill, living in Skyrim and even in Bruma for a short time. But Syra was wrapped in Serana's cape, her nose red. And she didn't look happy about it.  
"Please tell me there's somewhere warm on this gods forsaken island," Syra begged.  
Lilith hid her smile as she got up, stretching, urging her muscles to work again. The situation at hand was not an encouraging one and it did not call for a smile.  
"Not where we're going," Lilith admitted. "But there's a chance we may get warmer clothes."  
She didn't have it in her to fast travel, not yet. And besides that, she didn't have the courage to go straight to the half buried temple she'd only seen at a distance. It didn't look like much but she was in touch with more than one world and in one hung an ominous shadow that enticed her with ancient secrets and knowledge. She wasn't fully sure that she trusted those shadows or their voices but a the same time, she wasn't sure she'd be able to resist them if they fully took hold. And after ages of being in the presence of the Divine and the Daedra both, she knew who she was dealing with. Still, those hovering shadows could be mere remnants and she didn't want to alert Syra or the others quite yet. Not until she knew for sure.  
"We're on foot from here on," Lilith reported to her companions, tossing a bag of septims to the captain as she stepped onto the docks.  
Syra was on her heels, probably eager to have someone shield her from the wind.  
"We're detouring to a small village. I want to consult with the shaman there," Lilith went on. "I don't know much about Miraak's temple except that it was in ruins the last I saw of it."  
And it probably was still in ruins, her last sighting of it mere days ago.  
"How long will that take?" Steinar demanded.  
Lilith let her eyes flutter to him. She couldn't read him and that irked her. He was human. She had no problem reading Man or Mer but when it came to vampires or certain animals, she wasn't able to. It made no sense that she couldn't read Steinar. She'd touched his flesh with silver, looked into his eyes which stayed an unwavering brown and even delved into his mind only to be met with more blackness. Was it because he was not a complete soul? Did that have anything to do with it? She'd have to find out when he was whole.  
"A few hours," Lilith replied. "We can probably be there by nightfall. If we hurry."  
She glanced over her shoulder at Syra.  
"Can you run in this weather?" she asked.  
Syra took a deep breath and nodded. Lilith smiled her way before she returned her attention to the three ahead of her.  
"I'll lead," she informed them. "Only stop if you need to. And don't stray from the group."

 

(Syra)  
Coldharbour had prepared me for this but my own unwillingness to allow myself to be surrounded by the cold burdened me. My lungs burned from the cold but it helped to imagine the legion of Molag's minions at my heels as they'd been in Coldharbour. I pushed through the cold and the pain in my legs and side, managing to keep up with Lilith even as the sky darkened and the mage got harder to see. "Stop!"  
I skidded to a halt, expecting an attack, having never heard Serana's voice get that loud, that panicked. Lilith expected an attack as well, turning with fire balls in her palms. We were safe, save for the elements though. Serana was bent at the waist, breathing deeply and shaking. And the way she was looking at me told me I wasn't the only one remembering Coldharbour. How did this bond even work? And when would it be gone? I waded through the snow, ignoring Steinar who seemed annoyed to be stopped, and stooping to look Serana in the eyes.  
"As you can recall, Coldharbour was a nightmare. But I survived and I know you can survive a secondhand experience," I urged. "Don't let it or its cold memories freeze you. Use your fear and run."  
"How are you not cripple by this?" Serana asked.  
It was hard to explain, in that I didn't have enough words or time to explain all that kept me alive. Or all the hate I had for Molag Bal and the stubbornness, the refusal to bow to his will, that had made me fight to stay alive, to stay some semblance of myself just to spite him. But I'd give it a shot. As I opened my mouth to speak, the echo of what sounded like a warped version of a bear's roar echoed through the dead trees around us. I looked instead in the roar's direction, alert.  
"Werewolves and were bears have been spotted in the more northern parts of the island," Lilith reported nonchalantly. "Often warring with each other."  
Which explained why she'd said not to stop or to stray from the group. Safety in numbers. Ignoring Lilith's subtle "I told you so"s, I focused instead on one of my best senses, trying to figure out from memory how close whatever were creature, most likely a were bear, was. I had never seen a werewolf in its beast form. Or even heard of were bears.  
"We need to go," I insisted, catching Serana's arm.  
She was up now, the threat of real danger and probably a surge of adrenaline, overpowering her fear of old memories. And it was a good thing she moved too, as a giant orb of fur careened from the woods, claws scratching at the space she'd been occupying, tearing at snow and what little ground wasn't frozen solid. If she'd had any remaining remnants of fear, it was gone now as she turned the tables, lifting me and zipping away from the were beast. It was a werewolf, his dark coat matted with blood. He shook his head, his gaze drifting to our rag tag group, the black eyes not a welcoming sight. Lilith chuckled, her hands lighting up with flames again.  
"I remember you," she remarked.  
I almost asked her why until the beast turned fully, bringing the rest of himself into the light and revealing a very memorable scar that ran along the right side of his fast to his shoulder. Something had taken a bite out of him, recently, since the scar still looked fresh. It was probably another wolf.  
"Do you remember me?" she asked, a pointless question.  
As soon as she asked, the wolf moved, abandoning whatever fight had put him directly in our path to go after Lilith. She waited until the last second to roll out of its path, her wild movements sending her straight to Brynjolf. Good. I knew he could move, his pace across this snow not hindered by heavy armor or short strides. Or haunting memories. He'd kept up with Lilith with no trouble at all. And move he did, grabbing Lilith, mindful of the flames she juggled, lifting her into his arms and taking off. Serana's grip on me tightened and I didn't bother trying to argue my way out of it, my attention on the werewolf as he whirled around, his gaze falling on Steinar. The warrior didn't seem afraid, his hands in fists as he stood his ground, letting the beast charge. Serana was as tense as he, as if the beast was charging us. Looking at her face, though, I saw that her glowing gaze was elsewhere, back towards the beast's emergence.  
"What is it?" I asked, my words followed by an even deeper growl.  
It stopped the werewolf in his tracks, his blood matted body a statue amongst the snow.  
"There's another one," Serana reported.  
She seemed to be tracking it, her head turning to follow its movements. It was louder than the first werewolf had been but perhaps stronger, the sound of trees cracking in half echoing in the quiet night. Bigger, it most definitely was. I tried seeing what Serana was, tried to look past the mess of trees that the beast had hidden itself in. At the risk of turning into a dragon, I tapped into Nithrogr's resting presence, my eyesight instantly better as well as my other senses. I wrinkled my nose at the smell but trained my eyes at the woods, seeing past the tree trunks. It was the change in texture, from the warped shapes of nature to the hulking bulk of a body that told me I'd found the beast. I was right, it was bigger than the werewolf. Unfortunately, it was no wolf. This was a bear. As I found its eyes, jarred by the fact that it seemed to be looking into my eyes though that was impossible, it brought down one meaty paw, hitting the cracked tree trunk once more, this time fulling breaking it. I lost it as Serana moved, running out of the way of the falling tree, just making it as a falling branch entangled itself with her legs and sending both of us sprawling to the ground.  
"...Roh Dah!" I caught the tail end of, a current ripping through the air over me.  
A strong hand gripped the collar of my armor and I was yanked to my feet, my ears ringing. It was Steinar. He stayed in place, allowing me to balance against his armor even while he helped Serana up as well.  
"We have to move," he said, his voice still laced with power.  
I nodded my agreement, looking for Lilith or Brynjolf. Or the werewolf. It probably wasn't a good idea to lose sight of him either but I had.  
"This way," Steinar ordered.  
Serana was on her feet now, recovering a lot faster than I, and Steinar took off for a cluster of trees, us in tow. I cast a glance over my shoulder, staring as the very bear who'd knocked over a full grown tree crashed through the ones he'd been hiding behind, roaring at us as we ran, surprisingly fast for a beast with his bulk.  
"Get low," I heard Lilith's voice yell though I didn't see the Altmer.  
Serana and Steinar stooped as flames flew over their heads, just barely missing mine and creating a protective wall between us and the pursuing were bear. Ahead of us stood Lilith, glowing with magic, Brynjolf off to the side.  
"I hope this village is close by," Steinar remarked.  
"Tired already?" Brynjolf teased. "You need to work on your stamina."  
"Your little wanna be dragonborn is wounded," Steinar snapped in response. "I'd assume you'd want to treat that."  
I was injured? Brynjolf turned to me as I undid the front ties of my armor, peeling it away from my skin. What I had assumed was sweat turned out to be blood, plastering the armor to my skin. When had I been hurt? Sliding a hand across my stomach, I felt the tell tale sign of a sharpened branch sticking out of my side.  
"Well, ow," was all I could say.  
The pain hadn't registered, not with the panic that came with the werewolf, the were bear or the falling tree.  
"She must have landed on it when we fell," Serana guessed at.  
"The village isn't far," Lilith assured them, sensing that they were already entering some sort of instant panic mode.  
She glanced my way.  
"Can you still run?"  
"I can carry her," Serana volunteered.  
"I saw you fight lass," Brynjolf chimed in. "You pack more of a punch than me. Best to keep your hands free."  
"Or," I spoke up. "We can let me use my own two feet. I'm perfectly capable. As long as this stick stays in place, I won't bleed out."  
I glanced Lilith's way.  
"As long as you can keep us away from any more were beasts."  
She nodded with a smile and turned, setting our pace again. I restrapped my armor, careful not to disturb the branch too much as I followed behind.

 

(General)  
Frea stared out at the mountains, watching the howling wind carrying snow as it tore through. Up that way, her people worked tirelessly on a temple that should have stayed buried. And nothing she said would bring them back though she'd head up in the morning to try again anyway. Her father was nearby, overexerting himself to keep the remaining villagers safe and so she could not draw comfort from his wisdom, lest she distract him and they all end up enthralled. She turned to check on her father still and it is when she saw the approaching figures. She went on the defensive, her powerful strides carrying her full of authority. However, getting closer, she saw she didn't need it, recognizing the High Elf that led the group. She truly fought the smile that stretched across her face.  
"Lilith, back so soon?" she called, raising her voice to be heard over the wind.  
Lilith returned her grin but no words, at least not until she was closer.  
"Go where the mission takes you," Lilith replied at last, stopping right before Frea.  
Frea studied the Mer. Her father had explained the burden Lilith carried when she'd asked about it so she expected the elf to look tired but Lilith looked as though bits of her life had been sucked out of her, the bags beneath her eyes more pronounced and the way her body shook said that she'd been using some very powerful spells with little, if any, rest in between them.  
"Frea, we need a healer and somewhere to stay tonight," Lilith requested.  
"Where exactly does the mission take you?" Frea asked.  
She let her eyes flit to Lilith's companions. Her guard was raised first by the Nord in the dark leather armor. His roguish features told her he was mischievous and she'd have to keep an eye on him. Next though, was the vampire. The female tried to hide her face from Frea, her gaze pointedly trained away but Frea had seen those reflective eyes and knew the woman's true nature. She didn't even glance at the other two, turning to Lilith.  
"Are you mad, Lilith?" she asked. "A vampire?"  
Her father would have a fit. The remaining villagers would have a fit.  
"I can assure you, Serana won't eat anyone," another female voice said before Lilith could speak in her own defense.  
Frea turned to the other woman, the Dunmer. Her features gave Frea pause though. She was much paler in color than any Dunmer Frea had seen. And paler still as if she had lost a lot of blood. It made her black hair shockingly more pronounced, the likes of which tumbled down her back and shoulders, resting just past her waist. Not the smartest way to wear one's hair in such a savage place like Solstheim. For all her odd features though, the oddest was her eyes, reptilian slits rather than human pupils, which were a glowing ice blue.  
"What are you?" Frea whispered.  
"They," Lilith said, gesturing at the stoic male in the iron armor. "Are Dragonborn."  
"Me more so than her," mumbled the male.  
Frea ignored him, studying the female Dragonborn. She was getting a sort of deja vu about her, unable to place it.  
"Frea, we need a healer," Lilith insisted. "Right away."  
Frea forced herself to tear herself away from the woman. She was still weary of the vampire but she knew Lilith. Trusted her too. And if Lilith could be around a vampire, than Frea would take it as a good sign.  
"Many of our villagers are gone," she explained, leading them back to the village, gesturing that they could follow. "I'll have to treat... whichever one of you needs a healer."  
"Why is there a village out in the middle of nowhere?" the vampire, Serana, asked.  
She didn't seem bothered by the cold air, even as flurries of snow settled in her dark brown hair.  
"We are the Skaal and believe in the Old Gods," Frea said by way of explanation.  
"Whatever that means," the iron clad warrior grumbled.  
He radiated with displeasure.  
"The unpleasant fellow is Steinar," Lilith explained, matching Frea's strides. "He's the Last Dragonborn, from legend."  
Considering that it seemed a Dragonborn was the source of her village's problem, Frea found herself less than impressed.  
"Why are you here?" Frea asked. "When you left, you were adamant about never coming back."  
"As I said, I go where the mission takes me. And the mission is sending us to the Temple of Miraak.  
Frea fixed the Altmer with a surprised look.  
"Its funny then. Strange occurrences have been happening all over the island," she reported. "Many of our villagers have been called to the temple."  
"Last I recalled, it was only the occasional bandit and a handful of cultists who were trying to unearth the temple," Lilith said, her brow wrinkling in contemplation.  
Frea smirked.  
"The cultists have grown in number," Frea reported. "And the bandits have been joined by many of the Skaal. They work tirelessly."  
Her gaze went towards the temple, as if she could see it.  
"They're probably still working into the night. I do what I can but they seem completely devoted to unearthing the temple. They don't eat, they don't sleep. I can see the exhaustion taking its toll but they work on. And they drop dead, still trying to work with their last breaths," Frea added.  
Lilith sighed.  
"I should have done something before it got this bad."  
"To be fair, we didn't know that it would get this bad," Frea pointed out.  
They were in sight of the Great Hall and so Lilith could see the Skaal, their magic fueling the barrier that saved what was left of the village population from servitude. It was causing them great strain and Frea helped out when she could. But she was exhausted, having spent all day caring for those under the thrall of the mysterious source. There was tangible pain on the Altmer's face, for those lives taken and for the fact that she felt she had failed in some way. Frea had known the elf for little time but they were so much alike that she knew where Lilith's mind was. She was not the only one, the female dragonborn placing a hand on Lilith's shoulder.  
"We're here now," she said. "We'll do what we can."  
"We have a few empty beds in the Great Hall," Frea announced.  
She nodded at her father, careful to keep Serana out of his line of view as she led them to the Great Hall. Despite the troubling times, the remaining Skaal had tried to go about their days as if nothing was wrong, as if the barrier's strength did not waver by the day. A fire was going in the room's center, the smell of horker meat roasting accompanying the warmth in the room. Behind them, Frea was surprised to hear the female dragonborn give a low moan of pleasure and she turned, confused. Serana smirked, catching her look.  
"She hates the cold," she said by way of explanation.  
Lilith squared off with them.  
"Alright, you guys can stay in here, rest up, get some food. I'm going to relieve your father," she informed Frea who nodded.  
Next, Lilith addressed the rogue.  
"Brynjolf,please, make sure Syra doesn't just curl up and sleep. She needs food and that stick out of her side."  
"I can take care of myself," was one response.  
The other was a nod from the man she addressed. Finally, Lilith turned to Serana.  
"Lay low. The Skaal are very traditional and we do not want to offend them any more than we are."  
Serana nodded that she understood. Confident that her companions wouldn't cause trouble, she headed back outside. Frea turned to Syra, glad to have her name and surveyed her apparent patient. The stick was noticeable and she scolded herself for missing it.  
"This way," she gestured, leading them towards the stairs.  
The Skaal who slept in the Great Hall preferred the first floor and she was confident that Serana would be better hidden upstairs.  
"I can set up a screen if you want privacy," she informed Serana and Syra. "Because you're going to have to strip off that armor."  
She noticed the other male, Steinar, had stayed downstairs, resting by the made her very uneasy.  
"I guarantee you they've both seen me naked at this point," Syra remarked, not so much glumly but in a way that said she'd accepted her fate, already undoing the straps keeping her armor closed.  
She tossed the black cape she wore at Serana who put it on. As Syra disrobed further, she noticed the male, Brynjolf, briefly watching her before he tore his eyes away. Soundlessly, he headed back downstairs and Frea got the feeling she'd missed a lot. She didn't ask though. While Lilith and her were friends, it was not enough to merely know names. She gestured for Syra to lay on her uninjured side so she could examine the wound better. As soon as Syra did, Serana was on her other side, alert, a watchful gaze on both Syra and Frea. In the dimmed light, her eyes glowed even brighter and Frea found herself feeling threatened though no threat was made. Or was that just Serana's presence. Syra's hand shot out, clutching Serana's wrist. She raised an eyebrow at the vampire who shrugged and sat back, though Syra's grip did not waver. Without a watching vampire, Frea felt more comfortable and began probing the wound, trying to figure out how deep the stick went.

 

(Syra)  
I hissed, unable to keep the pain internal anymore now that someone was poking at it. I wish it hadn't been pointed out to me. I could have ignored it. But I'd felt the throbbing pain of the stick on the way over. I gripped Serana's wrist, wishing Brynjolf had not left. I knew that Serana and I had some strange bond but she was still a vampire. I didn't want her tempted by my blood, not when I couldn't fight back. "Go get Brynjolf," I ordered as Frea pressed down again.  
The pain was actually blinding and I bit my lip, forcing my hand to uncurl from around Serana's wrist. She sensed the pain I was in, hurrying to her feet and away. Frea was making gentle shushing noises in between whispers of encouragement. I almost told her this wasn't the worst thing to happen to me but wasn't in a joking mood.  
"I have confidence that it didn't puncture anything," she informed me.  
"So take it out," I commanded through gritted teeth.  
"It will hurt," she warned as if it didn't already.  
"Do it," I snapped.  
That something so small could hurt so bad was inconceivable but the faster it was out, the faster we could go after Miraak. I could feel the vibrations as Frea seized hold of the stick, resting her free hand on my bare skin.  
"Don't tense," she advised, her voice gentle.  
Everything she was doing was meant to relax me, I knew this but found myself annoyed as I focused everything in me on not tensing. Frea pulled the stick and I lost it, blacking out from the pain that shot through my every nerve ending. When I came to, my vision was more intense, enhanced by Nithrogr's influence. And Brynjolf was the center of that gaze. He was sitting next to me, his head back against the wall, eyes closed. His hand, though, was curled around mine. I sat up, slowly, sliding my hand from his, waking him up as a result.  
"Lass," he greeted with a smile.  
"Hey," I replied, hugging the warm furs that covered me to my chest. "How long have I been asleep?"  
He pursed his lips.  
"I'd say a few hours," he admitted. "Frea removed the stick and you just collapsed."  
"Have you been here the whole time?" I asked.  
"Where else would I be?"  
His brow furrowed and he reached out, his hand getting too close to my face and I flinched, tensing at the same time. His features were unreadable, his hand freezing, hovering near my face but not touching.  
"Sorry," I whispered.  
"Lass, don't apologize," he ordered.  
He lowered his hand though.  
"Frea's father wanted to speak to us. Lilith took over for him but I don't doubt she already knows what he has to say."  
He managed a smile, weak though it was.  
"The old man's been sitting by the fire, waiting for you to wake up."  
"Let's not keep him waiting any longer," I insisted, unwrapping the furs I had snuggled into.  
Brynjolf's hand on my shoulder made me pause and he placed a sweet roll in front of my face.  
"Eat something first," he ordered as I took it, reveling in the warmth.  
"Where'd you get this?" I asked, biting into it.  
He smirked, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow at me.  
"You stole this didn't you, sneak thief?" I asked, forcing myself not to grin.  
I had no problem with thievery, it would be somewhat hypocritical, me being a former assassin and all but I wasn't above calling him out. He said nothing, just gave a quick shrug, clearly fighting one of his signature grins and doing a good job at that too.  
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he insisted, standing.  
"I'm sure you don't."  
It was such a small thing, arguing as we were and while I fought to avoid giving him a smile or a grin, I did concede to myself that the feelings of comradery It was a nice change of pace, nice to trust the people I was with, with the exception of Steinar. Brynjolf caught my arm, pulling me to my feet.  
"She says it won't scar," he told me, his voice now adopting a lower tone.  
"My scars are who I am," I informed him, though I was beginning to think those words were false.  
He shook his head at me but didn't remove his hand, his grip loosening however as if he wasn't sure what to do with me. How to act with me.  
"They don't bother me anymore," I assured him. "Its just... its strange that someone else has seen them, that someone else knows why they're there. Bryn, every other person who has known me so intimately is either dead or my enemy."  
Or Serana, who had my entire life it seemed playing in her mind like those memories were hers. Brynjolf smirked, his hand leaving my arm, gently trailing across my cheek as he brushed away stray strands of hair.  
"Pretty girls shouldn't have ugly scars, lass," he informed me.  
I smirked at him now.  
"Well, pretty girls shouldn't turn into dragons but this one does."  
"I think that's what most attracts me," he admitted, clearly teasing, a grin stretching across his face. "The fact that you turn into an angry red rage monster."  
"Are you implying that you're attracted to dragons?"  
"Only if that dragon is you," he replied.  
I knew what he was going to do and didn't fight or object when he leaned in, his lips pressing gently against mine, hesitating just a second. I curled my fingers around the sweet roll, focusing on the warmth of his hand on my cheek, tilting my head just a bit so he knew it was okay. It was odd kissing someone with emotion behind the gesture and much more pleasant. But as with any new thing I encountered, I didn't quite know what to do past standing awkwardly there, head tilted, letting him lead. At least until someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Brynjolf backed off then, surprised, as was I. I hadn't heard anyway approach, particularly Frea in her heavy armor.  
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, her face red to reveal she was embarrassed despite her even tone and calm demeanor. "My father wanted me to come check to make sure everything was alright."  
"We're fine," Brynjolf replied. "Coming as we speak."  
Frea nodded and turned, leaving us to follow. Brynjolf cast me a final glance, one laced with mischief before he did just that. I rolled my eyes, popping what remained of the sweet roll into my mouth before I hurried after them both. I had no idea what this man planned to say and I could only hope it was some monumental insight on Miraak. Because past finding him, I didn't have a plan.


	30. Road to Miraak

(General)  
His bones ached from so long exposed to the night chill. Skaal he may be but he was not immune to the weather, merely conditioned to it. He was content to merely enjoy the fire and perhaps doze awhile. But that was no longer a possibility, not when his daughter reentered the room, trailed by a Nord and the Halfling. He'd never have been able to tell, the Dunmer in her nearly disguising the Nord features. It was the eyes though, the cold blue that was not native to her kind and even more rare in his own. It was those eyes that zeroed in on him as she approached, sitting across the fire with no greeting to him, no acknowledgment past her steady gaze.  
"I am Storn," he greeted, nodding her way.  
"Syra," was her response, though she returned his nod.  
"How is your injury?" he asked, lifting the warm mead to his chapped lips.  
"Well," she replied. "The rest I got didn't hurt."  
She looked away from him, her eyes falling on her female companion, the one who stayed tucked in the fire's shadow, hood pulled low over her face. He had tried to coax her out, urge her to join his conversation with the other Nord, Steinar, but she had been stubborn and silent, only interrupting when Steinar began to reveal too much. With Syra's presence though, the Nord had fallen into his own silence. But it was not him that Storn needed to speak to.  
"I do not presume to know the All Maker's will," he began with. "But to reunite the dragon within you with Miraak-"  
He broke off, shaking his head, unable to share the dread he felt. It was the youth in her face, the appearance of innocence that a hard life had cost his daughter. The youth of this Halfling's was eclipsed by a weariness that just seemed wrong.  
"That's the thing, its not just Nithrogr inside me," Syra argued. "I'm more than a dragon soul in a human body."  
Her voice was calm but carried weight as she rested a hand on her chest.  
"I was a mortal soul, a weak one, but still mortal. Nithrogr is a part of me. I am not a part of her."  
It was a subject that had clearly been raised in the past and one she'd given some thought.  
"The only way to stop Miraak is to kill him, for good," Storn informed her.  
Her face gave nothing away on how this news made her feel.  
"I know," she replied, her voice as steady as it had been before.  
"Can you do that?" he asked.  
"She won't have to," Steinar piped up, his own voice laced with bravado.  
Storn pointedly ignored the lad. He had no doubt that the boy would stand some chance against Miraak but not against Miraak and Syra, if she did not speak the truth of her feelings on taking Miraak's life. "Miraak never betrayed Nithrogr. He was loyal to the very end to her and she to him."  
Syra's eyes widened a bit.  
"Are you implying-"  
"It was always viewed as odd how close the two were for a human and a dragon," Storn informed her.  
"How do you know this?" snapped the woman in the shadows.  
Storn ignored her as well as she had ignored him though he heard the faint whisper of his daughter's voice as she explained.  
"He loved her."  
Syra's voice was low but audible. The hand on her chest curled into a fist.  
"And she him."  
Her eyes changed, briefly, the blue pupils becoming the slitted eyes of a dragon. The change barely lasted a second but Storn caught it, sitting back a bit in caution. Syra closed her eyes letting out a deep sigh.  
"The monster that was once my brother has an entire Hold of innocent people held hostage. He controls an entire army, one he's used to attack innocents," she said. "And his biggest ally is a overgrown lizard who is suppose to devour the world."  
She opened her eyes, the pupils back to normal as she stared at Storn across the fire.  
"If Miraak has to die so that Steinar can fulfill his destiny and I can tear Dyre apart, then Miraak will die. And even Nithrogr cannot stop me."

 

(Syra)  
Storn nodded in response to my words before he rose. And bit by bit the other trickled off to sleep, Brynjolf only leaving at my request. Soon it was just Serana and I. She was watching me from under her hood but I kept my eyes on the fire.  
"You should get some sleep," she suggested. "I think Lilith wants to start out early tomorrow."  
"You're one to talk," I retorted, kicking myself as I realized what she was.  
Serana shook her head.  
"Look, we're walking into a temple that no one has been in for thousands of years," Serana pointed out, tone even. "And the owner of said temple is somehow alive and able to control people enough to make them unearth it. Who knows what else he can make them do or who else is under his control."  
Her logic so far was hard to argue with.  
"I don't trust Steinar but I trust you," Serana went on. "And it would make me feel better to know the person I trust is alert enough to watch her own back."  
I smirked.  
"I can't. Sleep I mean. I'm too awake."  
Passing out earlier didn't help either.  
"I'm so ready to be done."  
I sighed, not knowing how to elaborate.  
"What's done for you?" Serana asked. "At the end of this all, where do you see yourself?"  
I closed my eyes, letting my mind drift.  
"I'm at Goldenglow Estate. I can finally hold a weapon again without being afraid. Can finally waste a few days just laying in the grass, knowing that nothing is going to happen. No one is coming to attack me. I'm free."  
Serana was watching me, her eyes shadowed. And I knew she wished for the same thing, wanted what I wanted.  
"And I want you there," I declared.  
Serana seemed surprised, momentarily, before she smiled.  
"I want to be there too."  
There was nothing more to say but it seemed wrong to leave it at that. I opened my mouth, to say what I didn't know but was cut off as a loud roar echoed into the peace of the Great Hall. I scrambled to my feet, Serana in tow and ran outside into the snow. Lilith was on her feet, eyes on the dark sky. She'd just risen too, the indent of her knees in the snow still clearly visible.  
"Dragon?" I checked and she nodded, fireballs appearing in her hands.  
"Its circling back," Serana reported, probably the only one of us who could see clearly through both the snow fall and the dark.  
Lilith tried following Serana's gaze but the frustration on her face told me that wasn't going well. Serana saw it as well, lightning dancing in her hands.  
"Its directly above us," she informed Lilith. "And coming closer fast."  
It seemed to be enough for Lilith who thrust her hands up, the fireballs turning into streams of fire. They didn't get far as they hit the dragon and, with another roar, he changed direction, zipping upwards. Serana threw her lightning then, letting it travel across his hard skin as he fled. Magically inept, I watched all this from the ground, vision enhanced by Nithrogr. The dragon flew towards Miraak's temple, landing just out of sight.  
"I think Miraak knows we're here," Lilith reported. "And why."  
"Then he's smarter than we thought," I replied.  
"Or we're being watched," Serana suggested, her words followed by the slamming open of the Great Hall doors.  
Steinar stumbled out, sword in hand, Brynjolf in tow carrying a torch.  
"Dragon?" Steinar panted.  
"A warning," I told him. "From your better half."  
He made a face, one of loathing and resentment, or at least that's what it looked like to me, but that was it before his attention returned to the dragon.  
"Where'd it go?" he asked, looking at Serana, the only one of us, I suspected, that he could tolerate.  
"To the temple," she replied, nodding.  
I'd have thought Steinar would sit on the knowledge and decide the best course of action to take. Instead, he took off, surprisingly fast in his heavy armor.  
"This idiot," I growled, chasing after him without thinking either.  
"Syra!" Lilith objected, her voice already far away.  
I chose to ignore her, a choice she no doubt read in my mind and would lecture me about  
later. If there was a later.

 

(General)  
It was the action he'd been looking for. Finally a dragon he could slay. He'd been stuck in the temple with the old men so long it had begun to drive him crazy. And yeah, he felt like a part of him had been missing. It was an itch he couldn't scratch and the Greybeards didn't understand, the confusion when he brought it up evident in their faces. And as much as he didn't like the tiny halfling, he was somewhat grateful that he had answers now and angry that they'd been so easily handed over to her while being kept from him. He was the dragonborn of legend, the one sung about in songs, whispered about in stories to little Nord children as they fell asleep. He was the last and it was his destiny to slay the World Eater. Not the half pint running behind him. The snow stung at his skin as he pounded across the wooden bridge, the temple in sight now. The dragon sat atop the structure, looking down at him, amusement in its reptilian eyes. It dared mock him. He reached for his sword, his hand only just grazing the hilt when he felt it, the surge of heat that touched his back right as another dragon flew over his head. He recognized it immediately and gritted his teeth as the dragon, Nithrogr, or Syra, whatever her name was, flew at the waiting dragon. In response, his leathery wings sprang to life, lifting him into the air with surprising speed, Nithrogr following after. She was smaller, compared to him, and so faster, able to avoid his snapping gaze as he tried to catch her with his teeth. Her response was a blast of fire, her Voice deeper than he would have expected and echoing with more power. A blast of frost was her response, though the dragon clearly knew he stood no chance, even as a path of frost crisscrossed its way across Nithrogr's back as she dove for the ground. The other dragon followed and last second, right as she would have crashed, Nithrogr shot back up, leaving the other dragon to tumble to the ground, his large body sliding easily in the snow, leaving behind a muddy wake. Steinar wasted no time, hurrying to the fallen dragon that flopped just a bit. He rammed his sword into face, between its nostrils, twisting with savage determination, watching those eyes all the while. The dragon was angered by both his actions and the humiliation that came with crashing to the ground. It opened its mouth, blasting Steinar with frost. He covered his face, releasing his sword as the force behind the Shout sent him flying back. Next the dragon went for Nithrogr, fueled by its rage, its wings beating faster. Steinar shook off the Shout, waiting to see what she'd do, if she'd attack. Instead, the female dragon shrunk, body returning to that of a mortal, one that fell from the dragon's path, landing easily on one of the pillars of the temple. Confused, the dragon took a sharp right, zipping right for her.  
"Move you idiot!" Steinar yelled, ignored as the Halfling braced herself, her knees locking.  
The dragon was on her now, his jaw parting and his mouth snapping at her. She leapt then, grabbing the sword still embedded in the dragon's face, using it to pull herself onto his head and then onto his back, a fact he didn't like too much as he shot into the sky again, flying upside down in an attempt to shake her. Syra held on, even as the dragon landed, thrashing wildly and trying to crane his neck to snap at her. Steinar took his chance, running towards them, a shout on his lips. He was too slow though. The dragon shook Syra off, throwing her a good few feet away where she crashed into another pillar before dropping to the snow, dazed. It was those seconds that counted as the dragon closed in, only to be stopped by an imposing masked figure, the likes of which appeared out of nowhere between Syra and the dragon.  
"Cease," he ordered, standing tall, voice clear even with his mask.  
The dragon did not seem to like the order, looking as if he wanted to object, wanted to fight. And instead, he backed off, shaking his wings off before lifting himself into the air and away from them. Steinar watched it go, really wishing it had had the courtesy to leave his sword. Meanwhile, Syra's vision cleared and she beheld the strange man who'd saved her. Who was now facing her, standing over her.  
"If I had not seen it, I would not have believed it," he whispered, offering her his hand.  
She should have been suspicious, should have wondered who he was and how powerful he was to have just appeared from thin air. But she felt calm, as if at peace, taking his gloved hand. There was no warning of what he would do afterwards, pulling her to her feet and into his arms, his grip on her waist firm. Even then, she found her attention focused on his mask, his voice.  
"How is it possible?" he asked. "For a dragon to live inside a mortal form?"  
"Who are you?" Syra whispered, her voice unable to go higher than that octave, her mind desperately grasping at memories not her own that had the answers she sought.  
Unbidden, her hand reached for the mask and he let her. Let her pull the mask away, revealing the face of a Nord, his face decorated by three scars that stretched from the bottom left side of his face, trailing through his full lips, all the way across his cheekbones and stopping just shy of his left eye, the likes of which was brown. His other eye was a deep blue. And it was with the sight of those eyes that she finally seized hold of the memory.  
"Miraak," she breathed, shocked.  
So this was the man they had come to kill. He lifted a hand, caressing her cheek.  
"Nithrogr, I have waited so long to see you again," he informed her, his eyes seeing through her, as if he could look into her very soul.  
"I came to kill you," she informed him and his faint smile did not waver.  
"I was told," he admitted. "But you won't."  
"How can you be so sure?" Syra demanded.  
"Because the bond I shared with my mistress is a deep one. No doubt it transcends time."  
He leaned in closer as he spoke and Syra could only focus on the stubble along his jawline, the same deep brown as his hair which hung long, to his shoulders and the way his chest felt beneath her hands as she rested them there, the only thing she managed to do as he kissed her. And with that, her resolved cracked, just a bit. But a bit was enough and she hated herself for realizing that, grateful when Miraak was yanked away from her, giving her room to think. Serana stood now between her and Miraak, fangs out, her eyes glowing red. Syra reached out, catching hold of the vampire's arm as Miraak returned his mask to its place on his face.  
"Ah, more guests," he mused, his voice as collected as it had been when he'd ordered the dragon away.  
"Are you hurt?" Serana asked, voice low and directed at Syra.  
"I'm fine," Syra replied, releasing her arm, slowly.  
"I am nothing if not a gracious host," Miraak went on. "I grant you safe passage into my temple. Let us see how fortified you are when the advantage is mine."  
His words were followed by his disappearance, the likes of which was sudden and silent. In that silence, Syra became aware of the crunch of snow under boots as the others caught up. The others being Steinar, Lilith, Frea and Brynjolf. Her face went red as she realized that the thief had seen her kiss Miraak, his own face hurt though he approached her with a weak smirk.  
"Well, lass. Never a dull moment, huh?" he joked.  
"Brynjolf-" she began only to stop.  
What explanation did she owe him? Really? He seemed to catch her line of thinking but said nothing.  
"We should take advantage of his offer," Lilith announced. "It'll give us a chance to see what's going on inside."  
"Or it could be a trap," Frea argued.  
The two said more but Syra didn't listen. She was tired and cold but wide awake at the same time. And with each passing second, she became less and less sure of her resolve, wrapping her arms around herself. It wasn't just the kiss. No, the emotional rush before that as well as the crushing wave of memories Nithrogr had pumped into her mind had cracked her. Lost in thought, she didn't feel the calloused hand as it gently touched her arm but when it registered, she looked at Brynjolf. He offered her a smile before he held up a fur laced coat, like the ones she'd seen back at the Skaal village. He winked and she took it, sliding it on, the act of kindness hurting her all the same.  
"Thank you," she said in a low voice.  
"Frea,we're going," Lilith insisted. "This was our whole reason for even coming to this island. To find and kill Miraak. The plan doesn't change just because he knows."

 

(Syra)  
The temple was large,imposing in the dark of the night. And there was an air of loneliness to it mixed with the bone chilling cold. I craned my neck as we trekked after Lilith, following the winding stairs inside. The temple had held up a lot better than I had thought it would, if it truly had been destroyed by dragons ages ago. Despite being in the enemy's stronghold, where who knows what kind of traps awaited us, my attention kept wandering back to Brynjolf who flanked the group. He would catch my glances and give me a wink or a smile and I'd turn back around, keeping an eye on our surroundings as we passed through what appeared to be mass tombs. I eyed the bodies stretched out on their slabs, knowing that sometimes, the dead did not stay dead.  
"He can't be letting us in trap free," Serana observed, though we'd met no resistance.  
So far. Lilith glanced over her shoulder.  
"I only just managed to read his mind. He seemed sincere when he said we had safe passage."  
"What does he expect in return?" I asked, my question meant for Lilith only.  
It did not stop Steinar, who scoffed.  
"From the kiss he laid on you, I can guess what he expects in return."  
I glared at him, a fact that didn't seem to bother him.  
"Enough, Steinar."  
Brynjolf's voice was low but gruff, an edge to it. Looking back at him, I could see the irritation in his eyes as he glared at Steinar. Steinar smirked over his shoulder at the thief.  
"Even you saw it. Clearly there's not much of her that can resist Miraak. Despite all her big talk."  
"Are you intentionally trying to piss me off?" I snarled his way, forcing him to look back at me.  
I stepped closer, trying to make myself appear bigger, even if such a thing was impossible.  
"Whatever issue you may have with me, put it aside. If Miraak does harbor some feelings for the dragon in me, that can only work in our favor."  
Steinar smirked at me,condescendingly.  
"And what about your dragon's feelings for him?"  
His eyes narrowed but his smirk remained.  
"Or your feelings for him?"  
"I have no feelings for him," I snapped, matching his smirking condescension with righteous anger. "Enough, both of you."  
Serana stepped in, her irritation on her face.  
"The two of you, standing her, arguing as if stopping him is our only mission."  
She looked at Steinar.  
"The faster we stop Miraak and unify your souls, the faster we stop Alduin and complete your destiny."  
She looked at me next.  
"Remember, Dyre has a whole city of innocents. And every passing second runs the risk that he will make a snack of them."  
I nodded after a minute in surrender and Steinar took a step back. He shot me one last look before he continued on, passing Lilith. She looked at me and I could feel her in my mind, trying to find who knows what before Serana stepped between us, her presence urging the Arch Mage to keep walking. I didn't much care, turning my gaze to Brynjolf as he approached me, passing me without a glance. I watched his retreating backside, watched all of them as they continued on. I don't know why I did it, my own feelings still a mess as they drifted back, but I reached out, touching Brynjolf's hand with hesitation. There was no hope for my relationship with Steinar and on both Lilith and Serana I was unsure. Even this tangled mess of emotions Miraak stirred made me uneasy. The one relationship that I was even somewhat clear on was Brynjolf and I wanted it to last just a bit longer. I waited for a second, worried that he'd reject me and feeling such relief when his fingers intertwined with mine. His gaze stayed forward and I knew he was still not over the kiss I had with Miraak or the implications that Steinar had thrown my way. But he wasn't holding it against me. It was enough to almost warrant a smile. Almost.

 

(General)  
If she closed her eyes, she could almost see their progress, deeper into the temple. It almost made her smile. However, she was too charged up, anxious in her excitement. And had it been up to her, she would have sprung some semblance of a trap on the party. But the temple was the one place where Miraak's control was near absolute. After so many ages within Apocrypha, he'd learned at least how to keep her from doing too much within what had once been his sanctuary.  
"Priestess."  
The voice whispered through her mind and she lifted her head, though her master was nowhere in sight, choosing not to manifest himself.  
"Yes, my Lord?" she asked, eagerly awaiting his orders.  
A single word from him and any restrictions Miraak had placed on his temple would be whisked away and she could do as she pleased. The excitement grew as she waited, surrounded by the presence of the very master that had made her whole once was a feeling of coming home and she basked in while hoping he would speak faster.  
"Enter the temple and fetch me my prize," he intoned, his voice echoing in the recesses of her mind.  
She wasted no time, opening her eyes, leaving the mental room in which she did her best work. Windhelm returned to her, the reeking evil the scent she loved coming back to. The touch of misery, fear and blood were nice accents. She'd been out of her own mind long, viewing the blood stained stone floor of the Palace of Kings through her mask. It was a nice touch, the congealing red a nice touch against the dull slate. Certainly better than the rug. She rose from the arm of the throne, giving the poor brainwashed Jarl a quick pat. She had no time to search for his keeper, her lord's bidding more pressing than anything. She motioned at the guard, one of the meat sacks by the door. The look of pure fear that flashed across his face was delicious, as if he was worried that this was it. That his time had come. She nearly laughed but chose not to, waiting patiently as he approached her. Her excitement had been quenched, subdued by the sense of purpose she had no that she'd been given a task. The guard now stood before her, shaking ever so slightly. And she loved it.  
"I require something of you," she admitted to him, pausing to study him.  
He was far too thick, too muscled to serve her purpose. But someone else had caught her mind and remained in it since she'd first entered Windhelm.  
"Bring to me the beggar woman," she commanded.  
"Yes ma'am."  
The guard bowed, his voice flooded with relief as he nearly ran out. The Priestess was too focused on her preparations, lifting a fruit bowl from the great table and dumping it out, the fruit carelessly rolling to the floor. It would serve its purpose, she assumed, studying it. Her observation was interrupted as the guard hurried back, the beggar in tow. The Priestess smiled, the expression hidden behind her mask, the mask in the image of her master.  
"Hello, beggar," she greeted, stepping forward.  
Every step closer, meeting the fetched wretch halfway, made her body tingle. She was doing her master's bidding, actively again, rather than the orders from the fanged mouth of a child. And it was a refreshing change. She savored death but in her excitement, she moved fast, her long nails slicing through the soft but weathered throat of the poor woman before she could fully process what she was doing. Her other hand brought the bowl forth, catching the fresh blood, at least until the beggar's stunned body got the idea, falling to the floor at the horrified guard's feet. She didn't waste her time, turning with her bowl of gathered blood, retreating back to the arm of the throne that she'd laid claimed to and sitting. Slowly, she ran one finger through the blood, not allowing herself to be distracted admiring the color, intoning the words needed to return to the almost godlike state of being she would need to enter Miraak's temple without leaving Windhelm. The blood responded to her influence, following the path her finger made for it. It took a bit longer than she liked, the beggar's blood not as magically inclined as the court's wizard had been, but finally she felt it start to work, her body separate from that of her soul, of her astral being. And with that done, she was free to carry on her mission.

 

(Syra)  
I didn't fail to notice the cultists, how they watched us, their masks hiding the fact that their eyes followed us. But I got the feeling.  
"Creepy, aren't they?" Brynjolf remarked.  
"Understatement," Lilith said as Steinar snorted.  
Serana didn't respond, choosing instead to pull her hood over her head. I chose to not say a word, wondering instead how much further we'd have to walk. And what would happen once we got there. What trap Miraak would spring.  
"Look."  
Lilith's voice was a whisper as she stopped and indeed we all looked, beholding the approaching cultist. Underneath the stocky armor, the woman's curves were nearly obscured but there was no hiding the feminine walk, the likes of which one would need to possess curves for in the first place, hidden or not. There was a near ethereal feel to her and my eyes narrowed, the dragon in me stirred. Lilith seemed on edge too, tensing when the cultist stopped before us, holding a covered item in her hands. Her fellow cultists were watching her now, their heads turned, as if her approach was a surprise to them as well. "Something's not right," I said, my voice an uncertain whisper.  
I gripped Brynjolf's hand tighter as an ominous feeling took hold. Something in me didn't want her uncovering whatever it was she held. It was the source of the wrongness in the room, twisting and corrupting the air and , by extension, us as well.  
"Welcome, Dragonborns," the cultist said, her voice filled with dark glee.  
"That voice-" Lilith began as the woman lifted the corner of the cloth.  
"No!" I objected, the outburst instinctual as I lunged forward.  
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Steinar move too and in this we were in perfect sync though neither of us was fast enough. The cloth slipped away, revealing a black book. As fast as she'd dropped the cloth, the cultist opened the book, turning it towards Steinar and I, tentacles shooting out, wrapping around us.  
"Syra!" Lilith cried and I felt her seize my waist.  
Glancing at Steinar, I saw Serana and Brynjolf pulling at him. Despite their best efforts, though, the book was slowly pulling us away from them, the tentacles tightening. The sensation was less physical though and more as if the clammy arm had burrowed in, resting on my soul. Steinar grunted in pain, his hefty body collapsing, his eyes glazed over as what could only be his soul was yanked into the book. "No," I cried, reaching out as if I could catch what was already gone.  
It did nothing for my cause as the tentacles that had just deposited Steinar snapped back for me, curling around my arm, pulling with more force. The ripping sensation tore a scream from me as I too was yanked from my body, the book's pages the last thing I was aware of before complete and utter dark.


	31. Destiny

(Syra)

 

Everything felt wrong. My mouth was cotton as I rolled to my stomach, my vision swimming, my ears popping. My fingers scrambled for something, I didn't quite know what. And then a weathered but strong hand caught mine.  
"Steinar?" I guessed, hoping to be right.  
"Who else?" he snapped though it lacked his usual scorn.  
He sounded concerned and wary. And maybe a bit scared. My vision righted itself, slowly, so that I could see we were in near darkness, surrounded by stacks and stacks of books. Pages covered the floor, almost like a second skin, and above our heads were lights, dim so as not to take away from the fact that this was a Daedric Realm. Everything in me could feel it.  
"Miraak must have set a trap," Steinar growled.  
I ignored him, choosing to test my leg strength. My stance was stable and good thing too as the books shifted, accommodating the wing span of a serpent like dragon as it glided towards us. My guard went up, especially when I spotted Miraak. His mask was back in place but I knew his gaze was on us. Steinar was still on the ground, his hand still in mind which made it awkward to hold. I dropped his hand but stepped in front of him, his one defense against Miraak, since he had no sword. Miraak slid from his dragon, landing solidly on his feet, facing me. There was too little distance between us. And a part of me yearned to close that distance, to feel his mouth on mine and his hands on my skin. To feel his skin. The other part only saw the ghost of Dyre behind this man, saw the obstacle he was.  
"I set no trap," he intoned after a few moments of silence.  
"And yet, here we are," I retorted, sweeping my hands over the twisted library before me.  
It made me nervous. As bad as Coldharbour was, this realm was worse. It reeked of isolation and sorrow. And regret.  
"You do not care for this realm," Miraak observed.  
I had hoped I hadn't made my feelings known.  
"Then you must feel it."  
His words were a low rumble and he reached up, removing his mask and the expression beneath was heartbreaking. I ached for this man who was my enemy. His mismatched eyes were pools of emotion, the contrasting colors making me want to comfort him.  
"I regret it all," he admitted. "My betrayal, what it did to you Nithrogr."  
"My name is Syra," I snapped, throwing my anger at him to suffocate the feelings of sympathy.  
He gave me a sad smile, those scars seeming to stretch a bit.  
"That you are so... forceful. Nithrogr is not alone in there, is she?" he asked.  
"Our souls merged," I replied. "But I am the dominant soul."  
My eyes narrowed at him.  
"But feel free to touch me and see if you do not believe."  
Miraak gave a low chuckle.  
"In you, I feel Nithrogr, dominant or no. You are two halves. Do you so readily believe that she does not influence you?"  
"Syra," Steinar hissed, his hand now gripping my leg.  
I ignored him. With just the two of us here, I'd rather not take my eyes off Miraak. He was a complex man and I did not know if now he would attack, when he had the upper hand. The dragon watched us, his eyes on me, his expression significant though I could not place it.  
"Free us," I demanded of Miraak.  
"The master of the realm has brought you here," Miraak informed me. "I cannot free you, not against his will."  
"The master of the realm?"  
A Daedric Prince. A damn Daedric Prince. I was back in their notice, under scrutiny no doubt.  
"Why would he bring us here?" I demanded. "Doesn't he know what I can do?"  
We'd had a few arcane enthusiasts in the Brotherhood when I was growing up. And the one theory they all seemed set on was that I had some ability, or chance, that I could kill a god. It was one thing that puzzled me about Molag Bal dragging me into his realm. Did he have a death wish? Or maybe I couldn't. Was there a limit to how much of higher being's power I could absorb? Those lips twisted into a sad smirk.  
"Do you think he cares? Here, in his library, he can keep an eye on us. You are part of his collection."  
His eyes drifted past me, to Steinar, his eyes narrowing slightly.  
"Undoubtedly, old Mora has grown tired of my attempts to be free of this place. And so he has brought you along to kill me. The end result is still the same. You will be stuck here."  
"A risk I'm willing to take," Steinar growled.  
Miraak sighed deeply.  
"So be it."  
He drew his blade, the grace in his movements alarming. I didn't know why I was so surprised. He was a killer anyway.  
"Back off!" I snarled, sending a shout his way following my words.  
He was sent back into his dragon and the beast snapped to, striking at me. I dropped to the ground,avoiding it and grabbed Steinar on my way up. He was heavy but had regained some semblance of control of his body. As I turned us in the opposite direction, running up the dark bridge, his legs were able to keep up, though he leaned heavily against me.  
"We can't run forever," he argued in my ear.  
I could hear a hint of fear in his voice but chose not to focus on it. I also chose not to inform him that yes, we actually could, run forever. Daedric realms were fairly infinite, depending on their master's will. But if said master's will was to have Miraak and Steinar battle, then he'd reshape the ground beneath us and send us right into Miraak.  
"We need to get you a weapon," I said, absentmindedly.  
I'd gotten so use to walking in shadow, in adjusting, and 200 years in Coldharbour helped get me use to the dark. Even as Steinar stumbled along beside me, I navigated the dark halls, avoiding stacks of books that Steinar either tripped over or trampled, noticing that it was getting darker, the lights drifting away from us. We were being herded. Or that was the intent. To send us scrambling back for the light. And had Steinar been alone, he probably would have fallen for it, given that he struggled, trying to make me go back towards the light. Probably because in this darkness, he was blind.  
"Stop," I hissed.  
"No!" he snarled back.  
"Trust me, damn it!" I snapped, shaking him off.  
As expected, he collapsed, not expecting the sudden withdrawal of support. I looked down at him, barely able to see him in the dark.  
"Steinar, in all this, have I given you reason not to trust me?"  
"You're a dragon!" Steinar spat. "And I am the Dragonborn. Its my destiny to kill you!"  
"I was born with a human soul!" I threw back at him. "I was dying and Akatosh saved my life. Now that dragon soul he blessed me with has merged with my human one but at my core, I am human."  
It felt good to say. Especially to him.  
"Do you think I would ask for that burden? That burden that comes with being some predestined hero?" I asked. "Or a predestined villain?"  
He was silent in the darkness and I pressed on.  
"I do not think myself evil," I continued. "Though many of my actions would paint me as such. And while those actions are past, they have shaped me just as much as my current actions. And I can say with absolute certainty that destiny is crap."  
Steinar scoffed.  
"Of course you would say that. Yours is to die."  
I curled my hands into fists, badly wanting to hit him. Or shake sense into him. Neither action would get me very far.  
"I refuse to believe my destiny was to be raped," I said instead and I could feel him cringe, even if I couldn't fully see him.  
I took a step towards him.  
"My brother, my captor and even the Lord of Domination himself," I recalled. "I can't accept that such things were destined. And Steinar if my death is scripted to come about at your hands, I reject it that much more. I plan to live through all of this. Killing Miraak, killing my brother. I intend to live through it. And if I have to kill you to do so, then so be it."  
"Its saying things like that that make me not trust you," Steinar pointed out.  
"You're one to talk," I remarked dryly.  
I offered my hand and somewhere in all that darkness, he found it and I pulled him to his feet, setting his weight on my shoulder again. He rested less on me as we continued into the darkness, with less objection from him.  
"Why am I so weak?" he grumbled.  
A fact I was wondering as well.  
"Our souls were ripped from our bodies," I said, recalling what I could before I'd awoken. "And this is a Daedric realm. I spent two centuries trapped in one and as I said, I am two souls merged. Perhaps those factors make me somewhat immune to any effects."  
I shrugged, careful not to shrug him off.  
"Two centuries," Steinar repeated, not so much a question.  
I took it as one.  
"My brother ... sold me to Molag Bal," I explained, still not at rest with the information itself. "I was stuck in Coldharbour, frozen in time. Meanwhile, the world changed."  
"So why did he release you? Why are you in Skyrim?" Steinar asked.  
"I'm not sure," I admitted.  
Up ahead, I could see the faintest hint of light and was instantly wary.  
"If your brother had not raped you, would you wish him dead?" Steinar asked abruptly.  
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, one eye on the light.  
"No," I admitted and Steinar made an odd sound in the back of his throat. "What?"  
"You do not believe in destiny," he went on. "Because of the hand you were dealt. But what if you had been the Last Dragonborn? What if our positions were switched and you were born me?"  
"I'd pick a better helmet," I remarked truthfully and he glared.  
"Would you believe in destiny if you were me?" he pressed.  
"Who can say?" I asked. "I was born with greatness intended for me. Just not to the extent of saving the world."  
"Well neither was I," Steinar informed me, the most he'd ever offered.  
I waited, on the off chance that he would offer more about himself. And whether it was the darkness, the weakness he felt or the sense of impending battle, he did.  
"I was born a bandit's child. My mother was one of their prizes and my father was the chief. I was a child and a fool. I didn't see that she was miserable. All I saw was the wild life these bandits lived. And my father encouraged it. Encouraged me to grow wild and lawless. I lured so many travelers to their death. So many families. My father was proud but my mother would hear of the roll I played in these plans from those captured. And her heart broke, even as she argued that it wasn't true, that the wicked child they spoke of was not me."  
I remained quiet, listening, even as we entered the dimly lit room. Pages whispered beneath our feet, the black script moving across the weathered parchment. Steinar didn't seem to notice to the degree I did. He was lost to his past, a past he clearly did not visit often if the faraway look in his eyes was any indication. I knew it fairly well.  
"Until she saw me one day, covered in the blood of a man my father's men had cut down before me. And when she saw me, not only her heart broke. Her mind did as well. She no longer cared for the consequences. The next time my father summoned her to his bed, she plunged a knife in his heart and then her own. And in one fell swoop I was an orphan."  
I rested him against a stack of books. He seemed steadier on his feet now which was a good thing, I decided, beginning to dig through the fleshy pods around us and under the stacks of pages for a sword or even a dagger.  
“Bad things happen sometimes and there's never... there's never a good enough explanation,” I said.  
I stood, finding no weapons. Just books. Was it possible to bludgeon Miraak to death? I guessed I'd have to find out, I decided, picking up one that was fairly thick.  
“Any luck?” Steinar asked, probably choosing to ignore my gem of wisdom.  
“I doubt favor will shine upon us,” I admitted. “Daedric Princes have complete control over their realms. He took the light from us, probably to herd us back to Miraak. That hasn't worked. No doubt he's going to guide Miraak to us.”  
“You know a lot about Daedric Princes,” Steinar remarked. “For only being in ones realm.”  
“It helps that they're all the same,” I replied, tucking my selected book under my arm.  
I extended my free hand to Steinar and he took it, leaning on me again as we set off, further into the darkness.

 

(General)

The cultists were in clear shock, not believing one of their own would go against their master's orders. Lilith didn't know which way their tide would turn when they snapped out of that shock but she would be ready when they did, attacking the rouge cultist mercilessly. She needed the book which the woman had snatched back up.  
“Stay with them!” Lilith ordered, giving chase, holding her robes in one hand.  
Her feet pounded after the fleeing cultists, who shed the rustic armor as she moved, revealing scanty robes beneath, the likes of which revealed her odd silver skin. A Dunmer then? She dodged the armor, mindful of the uneven ground which the woman ahead of her didn't seem deterred by. She seemed to be enjoying the chase, glancing back at Lilith even, revealing the second mask she wore. It was a mirror to the masks of old dragon priests, some Lilith had encountered, others she'd heard about. This one was pure dragon scale, as black as night, the eye holes glowing red. Lilith knew with certainty that she was staring at Alduin's dragon priest. All the best cults had one.  
“Stop!” Lilith yelled.  
She was already low on magic, the strain taking its toll after so little rest between uses but she would not let the woman escape. She tapped into the trickling stream of it, summoning a ring of fire around them. The woman stopped just shy of running into the flames, turning to face Lilith.  
“Whoever you are, you go no further!” Lilith declared.  
That mask was infuriating. She couldn't gleam any details from her opponent, couldn't guess what potential trick she might have. Which would have been nice. The woman lifted her hand, thrusting it forward. Lilith was shocked as that simple gesture summoned slate crystals from the very floor, the likes of which sped towards Lilith, sharp and glimmering. Lilith dodged, narrowly, a splinter of the crystal catching her arm, cutting deep and drawing blood. Hissing, Lilith used her good hand to throw a fireball which the woman didn't even bother dodging. She made no move to stop it and it hit her body, engulfed her, but didn't harm her. She stood amongst the flames, calm. All Lilith could do was stare, mouth slightly agape, as the woman stood amongst the flames. Her surprise mounted as the woman waved her hand, the flames dispersing in a matter of seconds. And with the snap of her fingers, the woman vanished as well.

 

Brynjolf stood as Lilith returned, having taken off in a mad dash after the cultist. The Arch Mage held her arm, blood seeping from between her fingers. He saw Serana stiffen out of the corner of his eye. She made no other move, still crouching protectively beside Syra, letting currents of lightning dance between her finger tips as a warning to the straggling cultists around them. A few had left, in panic, not knowing what to do but knowing they wanted no part in this defiance. The ones left seemed interested in watching, none approaching to do harm or even offer an explanation. But it never hurt to be safe. Brynjolf stepped over Steinar, striding towards Lilith, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a cloth. Out of breath, she didn't say anything, extending her arm and letting him wrap the cloth around it.  
“Any change?” Lilith asked, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the disappearance of the book would mean that.  
“Nothing.”  
Lilith bit her lip, looking at the face of the thief. He was too focused on the task at hand, patching her up. He was trying not to worry, she could see that. Lilith glanced around him, at Serana who was clearly not doing well. She was tense, not quite panicking outright yet but the potential was there. Meanwhile, Lilith had just thrown caution to the wind and given chase to an opponent she knew next to nothing about. Except that their voice was familiar.  
“Its Syra,” Lilith declared, loudly.  
Serana glanced over and Brynjolf looked up.  
“She'll kill Miraak and drag Steinar back in no time,” Lilith went on. “I don't even know why we're worried. She's got this.”

 

(Syra)

“We're lost,” I declared.  
Steinar whirled on me. As soon as he was back on two feet, his usual personality returned, no trace of the poor orphan bandit baby he'd been in the dark. He glared at me and I simply raised my eyebrow in response, something he saw in the faint light. Every step was brighter and I had no doubt that at the end of this trip, we'd find Miraak.  
“We aren't lost,” he declared.  
“So you say,” I sassed.  
The banter helped him, I suspected. He was getting ready to fight for his life, for his soul. For his destiny. He turned away and stomped ahead. I kept my strides even and quiet. I didn't want to know what else lurked in this dark.  
“I wish I still had my sword,” he confessed to me. “How am I suppose to fight him without a weapon?”  
“I suppose it doesn't help if I say with the faith that good will triumph over evil?” I asked.  
“But is he evil?”  
Steinar's steps paused and he faced me.  
“Miraak rebelled against dragons,” he pointed out.  
“He's also enslaved people to unearth his temple. And his master is a Daedric Prince,” I argued back.  
“And I was a bandit.”  
“If you think your evil, then die. Let him kill you, “ I snapped.  
Steinar sighed in frustration.  
“I can't simplify everything like you,” he pointed out.  
“Its called burying your feelings,” I informed him as I passed him. “For later.”  
“And when's later?”  
He followed me now which was a nice change of pace since I had an idea which path led to Miraak.  
“Never,” I replied. “You eventually forget which hole you buried which feelings in so you don't risk it and leave them buried.”  
I didn't know if he planned to say anything to that. A roar overhead cut us both off as a dragon zipped above us, flying just low enough that it knocked off books nestled contentedly on the top shelves.  
“Run!” Steinar ordered as they rained down on us.  
He didn't have to tell me twice.

 

(General)

He tried not to smile as the two emerged into the light, inches from him. His other half saw him first, skidding to a halt and stopping Syra. She threw a look back at the rain of books they'd just escaped, at the dragon that roared as it flew away in the opposite direction.  
“You-you did that on purpose,” she accused, turning back to Miraak.  
“I did,” he confessed, not at all ashamed.  
Her eyes narrowed and she threw the book in her hand at him, her frustrations clearly mounting when it landed just shy of his foot.  
“You kind of suck,” Steinar remarked.  
“Enough,” Miraak said, cutting off an argument.  
He pointed his sword at the Nord.  
“I am eager to be free of my imprisonment. And you are the only thing that stands in my way.”  
“You intend to fight an unarmed man?” Syra asked, crossing her arms.  
Something in her expression told him she didn't approve.  
“You're trying to appeal to my sense of honor. I have been without the press of others opinions for so long, things like honor have no meaning to me,” Miraak replied.  
“Nithrogr remembers you as an honorable sort,” Syra retorted.  
Behind his mask, his eyebrow twitched. So this was her game.  
“Very well,” he sighed, relenting.  
A weapon would do the Nord no good but Miraak snapped his finger and another dragon rose from the murky dark around them, landing in what space there was between the two parties. For their part, neither Syra nor Steinar flinched as that reptilian head swung their way, revealing a blade still shoved into his face.  
“Well hello again,” Syra greeted as Steinar gripped his sword, drawing it.  
The dragon growled and Syra braced herself.  
“You are dismissed,” Miraak commanded of the dragon.  
He had not summoned it for battle. This was a battle he was looking forward to, reclaiming a part of himself that he'd long thought lost to him. Steinar gave his blade a few practice swings, re-familiarizing himself with it. Syra watched him, a fact he was aware of. Her blue eyes were hard to read, her face a blank. He worried that was a result of Nithrogr's influence, worried that he'd be fighting this battle on two fronts. It was a bridge he'd cross when and if it came to it.  
“Ready?” she asked.  
Her fingers fiddled with one of the gauntlets she wore, adjusting it.  
“What are you planning?” he asked, keeping his voice low.  
“I've noticed, when I shout, there's a delay between when I can again. Perhaps its because the Thu'um is more for dragons and I'm mortal. Who knows? Either way, if it effects me, its got to affect both of you,” she reasoned.  
Steinar was clearly confused, having not followed her logic and she rolled her eyes.  
“Do not waste this chance,” she ordered.  
Before he could say anything, she charged, darting towards Miraak. He seemed surprised by her charge, drawing and turning his sword, swinging the blunt side her way. Syra threw up her hand, the sound of the sword hitting the gauntlet echoing. She turned into his body, digging her elbow into his rib and he grunted, not realizing she was done. At least not until she sent her fist angling up into his face, the force behind the punch, knocking his mask off. He was frustrated and that's when Steinar saw her plan.  
“Fus Ro!” Miraak roared, the shout carrying Syra away.  
Even not at full power it still packed quite a punch but she had told him not to waste his chance and so Steinar charged, hoping she was alright. Miraak seemed to be prepared for Steinar's attack, seeing through some semblance of his plan.  
“Fus Ro Dah!” Steinar shouted, his shout packed with its full power, hitting Miraak.  
The man's feet left the ground and he flew. Steinar was there to meet him, bringing his sword down. Miraak blocked him, his sword clutched in a death grip in his hand. Even strewn, Miraak was able to hold his own, his mismatched eyes narrowed in annoyance. Steinar tried not to be smug, the sense of victory he felt wasted when Miraak drove his boot into the back of his knee, the force behind it enough to cripple Steinar's stance. He fell forward, his sword sliding from Miraak's enough that the man was able to bring his up, narrowly separating Steinar's head from his shoulders. He rolled away, forcing himself to his feet. Miraak moved with surprising speed, his sword breezing through the air. Steinar only had so much time to block and he did so, shoving back with as much of his bulk as possible.  
“Iiz Slen Nus!”  
Syra's voice was clear but weighted with power. Miraak turned to meet her Thu'um as Steinar, wisely, chose to evade it, throwing himself out of its path. The power hit Miraak, his body encased in ice in the span of a second. Steinar got to his feet, ignoring the ache in his leg, staring at the ice statue that was Miraak. Then he glanced at Syra.  
“How did you do that?” he asked.  
“Nithrogr was a dragon. She didn't have to learn the Thu'um,” Syra explained.  
She rubbed her shoulder, clearly bothered by the pain she felt. Her hair was a mess, the few braids she wore unwinding.  
“Is he dead?” Steinar asked.  
“Yol Toor Shul!” was the response, the heat of fire radiating from within the ice statue until it burst out.  
Steinar sprinted out of the blast zone as Miraak stood before them again, damper, probably more frustrated, his attention on Syra.  
“I did not wish to hurt you, merely to get you out of the way,” he informed her. “I had thought you'd be wise enough to stay out of this on your own but I see that is not the case.”  
Syra smirked.  
“And that just pisses you off, doesn't it.”  
“I will not deny that it isn't frustrating. But I have a solution.”  
His solution swept down then on leathery wings, a dragon that had been perched atop the bookshelves. It caught Syra with its mouth, by surprise, taking off into the air.  
“Syra!” Steinar yelled, his concern distracting him as Miraak charged.  
He only just barely managed to block but the blade still caught him, slicing the skin of his forearm. If he had any hope of saving Syra, he first had to defeat Miraak. Which meant he had to focus.

 

(Syra)

The dragon's mouth reeked. I punched at its snout, pushing my luck. It hadn't impaled me with its teeth just yet but it was in a position to just that. Its wings carried me higher into the air, away from Miraak and Steinar, a fact I didn't care for.  
“You asked for it,” I said to it, reaching deep.  
Between its jaws, my body expanded, Nithrogr's form taking shape. I now had the advantage as those jaws separated. I dug my own teeth into the unguarded neck of the dragon who'd sought to keep me captive. He whirled, his jaws snapping, closing on air as I forced myself into my own body, losing my tether. I fell through the air, the dragon twisting mid air to catch me, probably ordered to take me away but to keep me safe. A task he'd thought would be easy. I tucked my arms against my body, facing downwards, falling faster. It hurt but I landed atop of on the bookshelves, sliding across the top on my back, inches from the edge. I took a second to breath, to relish not hitting the ground and not breaking anything, before the dragon landed behind me, his bulk rocking the shelf. I slid, grabbing the shelf's edge as it tipped, books falling into the bubbling sludge beneath us. The dragon's head swung my way, his jaws snapping at me as he tried to figure out the best way to grab me without injuring me before the shelf toppled over. I didn't give him a chance, kicking the tightly packed books out of place and slipping through the space created. The dragon behind me roared his displeasure, his wings flapping as he prepared to take off. I had more important things to worry about, sprinting across the shelf, listening for the sound of swords clashing. The library was rearranging itself, determined to help Miraak, to keep me from interfering.  
“Steinar!” I yelled.  
I beat at the shelves that moved to heed my progress, shoving books off and crawling through. If I couldn't go around I'd go through, no matter how many books I had to displace. When I was done, this realm would be in chaos, the knowledge collected in as many pieces as I could shred it into. Overhead, still trying to catch me, the dragon's jaws closed down on shelves, yanking them out of his way as he dug his snout in the space they left behind, trying to catch me. He was doing more damage and helping me at the same time, pushing aside shelves as he blindly searched, giving me a clear view of the two warriors I was looking for. I drew a deep breath, running towards them.  
“Wuld Nah Kest!”  
The shout propelled me forward, bypassing the dragon overhead. I was back on the battlefield and Miraak noticed first, realizing he was my target. He shoved Steinar back, just barely dodging when I tried to tackle him. I turned the failed leap into a roll, misjudging the distance and going over the edge. I flailed, reaching for the receding floor only for a gloved hand to catch mine. I stared up into Miraak's mismatched eyes, at the heart break in them and the fear that slowly turned into relief. He'd been afraid he wouldn't make it, wouldn't catch me in time.  
“I would have been fine,” I assured him.  
He opened his mouth, gods knew what he was going to say. And then he cried out in pain, staring at the sword that pierced his abdomen. I couldn't help it, crying out, shrieking. My pain, Nithrogr's pain, heart shattering. Steinar withdrew the blade, yanking Miraak back by his shoulder. Despite the wound, despite that he was dying, Miraak never let go, pulling me up when he slumped over. I crawled to his side, pushing him on his side, my hands pushing down on his wound, as if it would do any good.  
“Syra, what are you doing!?” Steinar cried.  
Miraak's eyes found me, smiling just a bit.  
“I am so glad I got to see you again, mistress,” he said.  
“Shut up,” I commanded. “This is not the end, do you hear me?”  
Steinar was looking at me like I was crazy.  
“Syra, let him die!” Steinar ordered.  
“No!”  
I glared at him directly.  
“Why should the gods or princes decide his fate or yours? Your destinies? Why can't you co exist? Defeat Alduin together and then go your separate ways. Why does it have to be either or?”  
Nithrogr roared inside me, her influence taking over.  
“They're coming,” Miraak announced.  
He still watched me even as he delivered his news.  
“Minions of Hermaeus Mora. That book-”  
He pointed to the book that was on a pedestal nearby.  
“It will take you home.”  
“And how will I know my soul's half will come back?” Steinar demanded.  
“You don't,” was Miraak's response.  
Steinar made a face but ran towards the book, realizing a few steps in that I wasn't following.  
“Syra!”  
He was incredulous.  
“Mistress, go,” Miraak urged.  
“No,” I said, my voice laced with power.  
Laced with Nithrogr.  
“All those years ago, I failed you. They destroyed you and my father saved me.”  
The words I spoke were her's.  
“I betrayed you,” Miraak whispered.  
His breathing was labored now.  
“Humans and dragons could have lived together in peace. I should have led by example. I failed you, I betrayed you.”  
I lifted my head, able to see, in the distance, the they Miraak had spoken of. The shelves that had hindered me parted, the dragon realizing that its master's master was in play flying away. A hand grabbed my upper arm, yanking me to my feet and I cried out in objection as Steinar released me. He reached down, lifting Miraak's body onto his shoulders.  
“What are you doing?” I shrieked, thinking he meant to throw the man into the abyss below us.  
He didn't answer, sprinting towards the book. I followed, waiting to see where his intentions led.  
“You won't leave without him,” Steinar replied, setting Miraak down by the book.  
He'd been nice enough to retrieve the two swords they'd been using, thrusting his into my hands. I knew it was his because Miraak's hilt was etched with green whereas Steinar's was an impressive red. I almost asked why he was armed when a hulking beast of slime emerged from the dark, roaring, its large head turning towards us.  
“Lorker,” Miraak grunted.  
I looked to the sword in my hands, that same panic setting in, temporarily replaced by confusion when Steinar stepped in front of Miraak and myself, wielding the sword.  
“My mother was from Helgen, born and raised,” he informed me. “I buried her near the lake. Take that sword and let it be her marker.”  
“What do you mean?” I asked, bewildered.  
Steinar scoffed, turning fast and touching the book, activating it. He drew his hand back, stepping away from the eerie light.  
“Prove me wrong, Syra,” Steinar ordered. “Prove to me destiny doesn't matter.”  
“Steinar!” I objected, reaching for him, trying to go after him as he charged towards the Lorker.  
The book's light engulfed me, my last image of Steinar cutting the Lorker deeply, unaware that two more had emerged. And then we were gone.

 

(General)  
Serana fell back as Syra sat up, coughing, reaching blindly for something to grab onto. Brynjolf reacted faster, crouching, letting her flailing hands seize hold of him.  
“Lass, shh,” he urged, smoothing his hand over her hair.  
“Heal him!” Syra managed.  
“Him?” Lilith repeated, looking to Steinar.  
He was still unconscious, his soul not yet returned. But looking his way froze Lilith cold as she saw another man rising from the ground, as if some magic dropped him there. His gaze went to Lilith, a mix of blue and brown that distracted, almost, from the pool of red that stained his hand as he pressed it against his chest. Miraak. She knew without explanation, moving, surprised that Serana was already there, a healing spell cradled in her hands. Lilith stood in between the two at the feet of Steinar's body. Because that's what it meant. If Miraak was here. That Steinar hadn't made it. She looked to Syra who was near inconsolable in Brynjolf's arms, sobbing and soaking the front of his armor. She had so many questions to ask but one look into those fierce green eyes told her that he now was not the time. Instead, Lilith stood in silence, staring down at the dead Nord and she felt a sadness come over her, covering her mouth. She hadn't liked him, not how he'd been so arrogant and hotheaded. But it was such a waste of a life, so young compared to her own. To Miraak's, Serana's and even Syra's. Tears ran down her own face, silent but powerful as she let herself have this moment to just sob in tandem with her equally grief stricken friend.


	32. Change

(Syra)

 

I held the sword in my hands, surprised I managed even that. My eyes tracked Lilith through the window, watching her and wondering how she could be so in control, so focused on building the pyre for Steinar. We wouldn't be able to take him home, wouldn't be able to bury him at Helgen with his mother. And so he'd end up buried in a strange land.  
“This is your fault,” I declared, pressing my forehead against the glass.  
My words were directed at Nithrogr. If she hadn't coveted Miraak, desired to bestow him freedom he'd lost a long time ago, Steinar would be here, as intolerable as ever rather than the martyr he was. Nithrogr didn't respond, slinking further into her solitude. She felt the shame without me adding to it but it made me feel better.  
“Its odd.”  
Serana's voice was a surprise but I didn't jump, acting as though I had expected her presence and keeping my gaze trained out the window on the sky that would soon be lit up with the first streaks of dawn.  
“Everything I got from you, from your blood and I never got a hint of Nithrogr. I know a bit about your bond with her, how it feels,at least for you. But you kept all of Nithrogr.”  
“The way I see it, real Dragonborns, they're born with a dragon soul,” I reasoned. “Their bodies know what they're in for. Nithrogr was thrust on me. So I doubt I have dragon blood. Just a hybrid soul.”  
“Are you scared? That she's taking over?” Serana asked.  
“Always,” I admitted. “It never occurred to me that I'd be around long.”  
Serana leaned against the wall beside me.  
“Remember what I said earlier? About not getting a hint of Nithrogr? I think she only has what power you give her,” Serana confessed. “So, the times she's taken over, its because you wanted her to. Or needed her to.”  
“And how do you propose I stop her from seizing full control?” I demanded to know.  
Serana leveled her gaze on me, completely serious in her next words, not that she had been joking before.  
“Find something your willing to fight her for,” the vampire advised.  
The sound of footsteps approaching brought our conversation to a close, our attention now drawn to Brynjolf. Serana wordlessly left, though she paused in the doorway next to him, her back to me. I had a feeling they were communicating silently and I didn't care. Let them think they needed to handle me with care if it made them feel better.  
“You okay?” he asked.  
“No,” I admitted.  
He sat down beside me, setting an extra blanket in my lap. I must have been shivering. It didn't matter. Nothing was registering.  
“He sacrificed himself lass. That wasn't a call you made,” Brynjolf assured me.  
“But it should've been,” I insisted.  
Realizing I wasn't going to put it on myself, Brynjolf retrieved the blanket, shaking it out and throwing it around my shoulders. He then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head a bit. He was exhausted. We all were or should've been. Sleep should've taken me not too long ago but I kept seeing Apocrypha. Steinar. Carefully, I set his sword down and then leaned against Brynjolf.  
“Miraak is downstairs. I suspect he is waiting for you,” Brynjolf said, though he clearly didn't want to.  
“Let him wait,” I said even as I felt the monster within stir, curious.  
“You should-” Brynjolf began.  
“I cannot control myself when he's around,” I confessed. “I don't know him. Shouldn't. He's centuries older than I am even before Coldharbour. These emotions shouldn't exist. I shouldn't exist.”  
Brynjolf tilted his head to look my way.  
“My mother,” he said abruptly, the subject not one we'd ever approached.  
He seemed confident in it though, pushing on.  
“She was a romantic. It got her heart broken over and over again but she always bounced back. Always believed that there was someone out there for everyone.”  
He chuckled.  
“I didn't believe her. I watched her heart broken and crying and just assumed that some people were just meant to be alone. I even resigned myself as one such person.”  
His lips curled up into a faint smile.  
“And then, I laid eyes on the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Granted, she handed me my ass and killed a fellow thief, but not undeservedly so.”  
Those eyes of his drilled into me, as if he could see into my soul.  
“There's no one else for me. And if that stands true for you, well, that means you had to wait about 200 years for me,” he pointed out. “So, maybe my mother ran out of time before she met her man and all that time doubting her should've been spent better.”  
I looked away, scoffing to save face.  
“What a dumb thing to say,” I decided.  
His fingers gently caught my chin and he turned my head back, kissing me just as gently. It was quick, fleeting, and I wanted more but he drew back, a softness to his eyes as he stared at me.  
“Steinar or Miraak, I'm glad you came back,” he admitted, his finger brushing over my lower lip.  
“You want to kiss me again?” I guessed, biting back a smile. “Don't you?”  
“So much,” he confessed. “But Miraak-”  
I leaned forward, kissing him again and clearly surprising him as I wrapped my arms around his neck, leaning into him until we slipped from the sill, falling the short distance to the floor.  
“I will always choose you,” I assured him, pushing myself up so that I hovered over him. “Especially when it comes to Miraak. He is Nithrogr's and you are mine.”  
Brynjolf's lips quirked.  
“Lass, I'm happy to hear that,” he admitted. “More than you know.”

 

(General)

Lilith twisted her hand, putting her all into the fire that sparked to life, eating at the wood of the pyre. Some of which was a bit damp from the snow. She'd spent eons building pyres, watching all manner of comrades as they passed on to the next life, the one thing she couldn't do. Not yet at least. The same rang true of her relationship with Farkas, did it not. One day, he would pass, he would leave her. And if she one day met her untimely end, where was there for her. She was more than human, possessing a foothold in both the Divine and Daedric circles. She didn't need godhood, simply a place to rest once her time was up.  
“You are lucky,” she said to Steinar as the fire circled his empty shell.  
If he had a soul of his own, one not currently merged with Miraak's, he stood to gain entrance into Sovengarde. And if Steinar did not,well, the end result was the same. Sovengarde. She envied him that. Footsteps in the snow caught her attention and she glanced up, her eyes landing on Serana. The vampire crossed her arms, lifting her chin as if she expected Lilith to argue with her being there. Instead, Lilith returned her gaze to the fire.  
“Whoever that woman was, she has to pay,” Serana declared.  
“Agreed.”  
This from Syra who joined them as well, probably in Serana's wake.  
“We've sat idly by long enough,” she continued. “We need to get to Windhelm and stop Dyre. Stop Alduin.”  
“How do you propose we get into a walled city?” Lilith asked. “The Thieves Guild hasn't even been able to get in.”  
“Ports are closed and the water front guard presence has increased,” Brynjolf agreed. “However-”  
His presence Lilith hadn't counted on and she turned away from the fire to look his way. He was busy rubbing his chin with his free hand while the other was casually wrapped around Syra's waist. A development Lilith hadn't expected. And one she would focus on later.  
“However?” Lilith prompted.  
“Mercer got word awhile ago about a merchant ship. The Queen's Ruby, the ship was called,” he recalled.  
“Fancy name for a merchant's ship,” Serana remarked. “Or else I'm old fashioned.”  
“She's not just any merchant's ship,” Brynjolf explained. “She's a decommissioned ship for the Emperor's fleet. A personal gift to its captain from the Emperor himself.”  
“No way would the Stormcloaks not seize an opportunity to get their hands on it. Even without cargo, commanding that ship would give them an edge. And having the captain as a hostage?”  
Lilith shook her head at the possibility.  
“They could try,” Brynjolf agreed. “Though the captain is said to be absolutely bonkers.”  
He chuckled.  
“Anyway, the ship's been out to sea and probably hasn't gotten the heads up that Imperial ships aren't delivering goods to rebel Holds any longer. It stands to reason that they'd go to Windhelm,” he went on.  
“Dyre wouldn't pass up cargo,” Syra declared. “He may be a vampire and not need to eat but his allies and the people he feeds from do. He needs the cargo on that ship.”  
“Which means we need to intercept it.”  
“We're in luck then,” Brynjolf announced. “Because when Mercer got word, the Queen's Ruby was set to dock at Raven Rock.”  
“If its docked, there's a good chance it will be leaving at first light,” Lilith reasoned. “Which means we have to go now.”  
“I'll get Miraak,” Serana announced, turning on her heel and heading inside.  
Lilith looked back at the pyre, not able to see past the flames without squinting a bit.  
“Find peace,” she whispered and she hoped, no matter where he ended up, that he did.

 

She stared out at the ocean, imagining a scenario in which she didn't feel an entire beach between her breasts, rubbing what little cleavage she had raw. Below her, leaning against the very mast she was perched on was the accursed First Mate, her father's right hand, who he'd sent to watch out for her. And he'd gotten his hands on another lute, strumming it and yowling out some tune he'd made up. If she'd been in a rotten mood, she might have told him to shut it but as it stood, her mood was great. Despite the whole sand cleavage thing.  
“What's the status of those supplies men?” she called down, trusting her father to have hired men with an ounce of worth in their bodies.  
The First Mate paused in his yowling to glance at the men still unloading cargo before tossing Falin a dry look. She grinned down at the hulking redguard.  
“You love me!” she declared,knowing it was true.  
Thaille had been with the family for as long as she could remember and was probably the best friend her father could ever have. Which was why he'd been chosen as her First Mate when she'd been given the ship by her grandfather, a decision he acted like he hadn't chosen for himself. At the end of the day, however, he loved it.  
“I'm here for the large cats,” Thaille insisted, grinning at the resting lionness beside him.  
Ashanti lifted her head long enough to coo at him before she laid back down. However she was alerted to something, her ears flicking back and forth as she slowly surveyed her surroundings.  
“I haven't seen any big cats save for the sabre cats all over Skyrim.”  
The high elf announced her presence as she seemed to materialize onto the ship. Ashanti was on her feet in a heartbeat, snarling, back arched and ready for action,  
“A lionness? That really takes me back.”  
The elf smiled.  
“We didn't invite you on board,” Thaille said, setting down his lute.  
He was muscle on top of muscle and had he stepped to the elf, he would have towered over her.  
“I rarely wait for an invitation when the balance of good and evil hangs in the balance,” the elf continued.  
“Stop dancing around the issue,” sighed the woman who stepped up behind her, her arms crossed.  
She faced Thaille.  
“We need passage back to Skyrim.”  
Thaille shot a glance upwards, at his captain, deferring though from the clench of his jaw she could tell he wanted nothing more than to tell them to fuck off.  
“We're a cargo ship,” she called down. “Last I checked, people aren't cargo.”  
“They're not,” the altmer agreed. “But-”  
“I'd say that rests this case,” Thaille cut off. “Aye, Falin?”  
“That's Captain Falin to you, Thaille. But agreed.”  
The altmer rolled her eyes.  
“Bryn may have been right,” she grumbled, cleary regretting those words.  
She looked to her companion who simply crossed her arms, tilting her head a bit as if she was waiting for something. The altmer took a step back.  
“Alright Serana,” she sighed. “Have at them.”  
Serana moved with speed that Falin found impossible, ramming into Thaille. The redguard found himself practically soaring across the deck of the Queen's Ruby, missing the railing by inches and falling into the water. The crew around them froze, clearly shocked that someone so small had thrown the hulking redguard. Quicker than the rest, Falin lurched into action, leaping from her perch, grabbing a hanging rope, one she'd tied to her mast to prevent her upper body strength from deteriorating from long months at sea, and swinging to meet Thaille's attacker. Serana was clearly ready for her, spinning out of the way of Falin's booted feet. Falin would not be deterred and she took a chance, reaching out as if to grab Serana. Serana smirked, seeing that she had the upper hand as Falin was still turned, not yet recovering her landing. She found herself surprised when instead of a slap or a punch, magic pulsed from Falin's hand, the flames licking at Serana's face. She threw up her arms, her armor taking the most damage though she could feel the fire licking at her unguarded hands. Hissing she stepped back, aware of a surprising chill. Lilith, no doubt, as the altmer came to her rescue. Falin leapt back, rolling out of the way as splinters of ice bee lined for her.  
“Grudge!” she yelled though she need not have.  
Her crew was aligned with her desires and when she stretched her hand upwards, her bow landed solidly in it, a quiver of arrows following seconds later, said arrows scattering across the deck. Didn't matter. Falin grabbed two, barely sparing a second to line up the shot before loosing the arrow. Lilith had't expected anything to come from the attack but was surprised as the arrow tore through her sleeve, embedding itself in the mast. Lilith was surprised but regained her composure too late though. Falin was quick, darting across the deck, an impish grin on her face a mere second before she delivered a roundhouse kick to the Arch Mage, one packed with power that sent the elf reeling. Serana, still slightly flaming, intervened then, grabbing Falin by her shirt, lifting her just enough to throw her as well. Unlike Thaille, Falin had trained for years to get out of all kinds of fixes, using her own core strength to turn herself mid air, landing solidly on the deck. Serana prepared to charge but was cut off by the snarling lioness, the fangs of which gleamed, indicative that she'd protect her mistress at all costs. Serana crouched in preparation, not sure how far she'd go but willing to wing it.  
“I leave you two alone for five minutes and this is what happens.”  
Syra's voice stopped her midstep as the halfling ran onto the ship, skidding to a halt as soon as she saw the lioness. The feline stopped its snarls to consider her, clearly confused at something. Those pale eyes blinked and Syra lifted her chin, ready to challenge it should it come to that. Her gaze did not stay on the beast, swinging instead to Falin. Her ice colored eyes narrowed as she really studied the face before her, not at all deterred by the arrow pointed at her.  
“If you intend to shoot me, I suggest you do so fast,” Syra instructed.”Be warned however that if you attack me, I will not hesitate to return the favor.”  
Falin considered it, her lips twisting into a pout that made Serana sure she wouldn't go through with it.Quick as lightning, Falin proved her wrong, notching an arrow that flew right at Syra. Serana moved then, not quick enough but she didn't have to be as Syra caught the arrow with surprising ease, stepping forward, bracing herself before opening her mouth.  
“Fus!” she bellowed, the sheer power behind the single word shaking the boat as it hit Falin and her beast, sending the two flying back.  
The elegantly carved bow that Falin carried was flung from her hands, sliding uselessly across the deck where it wouldn't do her much good.  
“Nice work,” Lilith praised, rubbing her jaw as she came to stand by Syra.  
“Much better than yours,” the halfling criticized.  
“Serana was the one who started the fight,” Lilith argued.  
“And you did nothing to stop it.”  
Syra's lack of sympathy did not go unnoticed, even as she grabbed Lilith's chin, studying her face which was swelling ever so slightly. After a moment, she smirked.  
“Might want to ice that,” she advised before releasing her and striding towards Falin.  
The ship captain scurried to her feet, shaking off the force that had sent her to her ass. She gave Syra a cocky smile.  
“I always did like powerful women,” she said, cracking her neck.  
Syra took a defensive stance, as if the fight wasn't over. As it turned out, it wasn't. Falin moved, fast as lightning, daggers materializing from hidden sheathes in her boots. She moved with a fluid grace that Syra matched and possibly even surpassed as she caught Falin's arm, twisting it while managing to avoid the second dagger. Syra's fingers dug into the well tanned flesh of her opponent, hitting some nerve and one dagger clattered to the deck which Syra kicked away. Thinking the former assassin's attention was elsewhere, Falin brought up her other dagger, aiming straight for Syra's neck. Syra ducked, releasing Falin's weaponless arm as she rolled across the deck and back to her feet. Falin was in the shadow of her steps, determination on her face as she switched tactics, spinning, bringing her leg up in a solid kick that met one of Syra's reinforced gauntlets. She did not expect the kick that Syra delivered to her chest, enough force behind it that it winded her as she went sprawling back to the deck, downed only for a second before getting back up. Had Syra wanted to drag the fight on any longer, she would have waited, giving the girl a chance to attack again or formulate a plan. Maybe even get her beast involved. But every second she wasted on the ship, fighting a captain of a ship they needed,especially when none of them had an affinity for sailing, meant more dead in Windhelm. And so Syra charged, ducking as Falin stabbed forward with her dagger and driving her fist into the girl's elbow. A move she knew from experience hurt. The dagger clattered to the floor and Falin, hissing, recoiled.  
“Oh you bitch!” she hissed, falling to the deck and cradling her arm. “You broke it!”  
“Its not broken,” Syra assured her. “Baby.”  
“Well now that everyone's disarmed,” Lilith spoke up before Falin could argue back. “As I said, we require passage.”  
“And once again, we're a cargo ship,” Falin threw back.  
“If you don't help us,” Syra said. “A lot of people, innocent people, are going to die.”  
She was bearing down on the woman, hoping that something in her eyes could potray how serious the situation was. Those green eyes stared back, reading her unspoken words and she glanced at ilith.  
“Where do you need to go?”

 

She had entertained thoughts of a throne of corpses, expecting Dyre to be sitting on one as she returned to the Palace of Kings. And was only disappointed. The vampire remained on the same stone throne, Ulfric standing beside him, an empty shell under Dyre's influence. It was rather infuriating.  
“I leave and suddenly you stop killing. Did we not warn your sister of the potential doom?” she demanded.  
She did not say that said sister was no doubt locked away within her master's realm, never to arrive and therefore, the entirety of the Hold would be slaughtered. She was practically giddy with excitement of so much death.  
“Syra has started on this path. Even if I did not slaughter thousands waiting for her, she would still arrive, thinking I did. I think it best to wait, to keep my cattle alive. She will no doubt go to every possible length to save them and I wish to give her that chance,” he replied.  
He smirked and the Priestess almost wished she could paint his likeness. He'd been turned so early in his life that his face still held instances of the innocent boy he must have been before he'd become warped and depraved as he was now. She had seen child vampires in her long life, perfectly angelic faces that could hold monsters beneath, monsters that fed savagely and with a hunger they chose to never suppress. As children often were known to do in the face of maturiy. But Dyre was something else. He was dark and sadistic, a murderer and everything that would serve Sithis well if Sithis could have kept a hold on him rather than losing the boy to Molag Bal as he had. He was shaped by the Brotherhood, taught by Harkon and manipulated by the Priestess herself. She honestly wondered though what he could do if she had not been placed at his side, to masquerade as a madwoman who simply wanted to watch the world end. If he knew her agenda, knew he was simply a puppet in her plans, what would he do? Would he turn against her and demand the same of Alduin? Or would he not care so long as she held her end of the deal and helped him claim the sister that drove him? She was almost tempted to ask him, to lay it all out for him, for she hated her curiosity being left unsatisfied. But she had to be ever mindful of her master's agenda as well, which only allowed her own to exist because they intertwined. And as soon as he fully had what he wanted, she would as well.  
“I will trust you judgement of your sister,” she relented as she made her way up those stairs.  
She took her seat on the arm of it, leaning against him, attempting as she always did, to entice him with her body though his interest was little. He was too smart for her to slack though and he expected the light seduction, the aggressive taunts that spelled out her courting him, a facade she would keep up until the moment when she would finally spring her trap.

 

It was the silver skin that had her thinking. Liltih stared out at the ocean, waiting and watching for Windhelm, despite the fact that it would be a few hours yet. She remembered chasing that... priestess, remembered that silver skin and those crystals. Heck, she'd found a shard of said crystals in her skin and had clutched it in her hand. It was no ordinary crystal and quite possibly would never be found in Skyrim or any of Tamriel for a while. The only place she'd ever seen such things was the Shivering Isles and that had been during the Greymarch. She remembered seeing those crystals appear, remembered feeling immeasurably guilty as the already mad residents of New Sheoth had been driven even madder as they tried and failed to remain calm. All had been uncertain of what the outcome would be and even Lilith had doubted the Hero of Kvatch would be able to rise to a challenge thrown down by the gods before his time. She closed her eyes, not just reminicing but letting herself truly remember all the actions that had led to her father's freedom. She had made many a questionable choice then, had shut off her humanity in an attempt to survive the game of politics and trickery she had to weave, all that Haskill had assured her needed to be done. Lilith's eyes flew open, memories she'd pushed aside cascading down upon her as she recalled one thing she'd hoped to forget. She had not successfully ended the Greymarch alone, they had not. There was no way that the Hero would have let Lilith approach him. By then he was too jaded, too aware, Mehrunes treachery and Martin's death fresh in his mind. Physically he was a threat and approaching him thusly had been out of the question without him seeing them as allies. And so she'd gone to the one person who was capable of achieving said feat. She opened her palm, looking at the crystal shard again, not wanting to believe even the slightest chance that this new enemy had once been her ally but able to see the connecting threads more an more clearly now that she'd faced the woman in battle. There was no way to really tell other than to rip the mask from her face and see and even that she was hesitant to do. If she had to though, she would.  
“What's that?”  
She jumped, surprised to see Syra beside her, wrapped in Serana's cloak again.  
“Syra,” she admonished, pressing a hand to her chest.  
“You had ample opportunity to hear me,” Syra retorted with little attitude and Lilith sighed.  
She brought her hand up, showing the crystal to her friend. Syra studied it but there was no familiarity in her gaze, no hint that she knew what it was. Which either meant she'd never crossed paths with the priestess or she had but it had never come to a fight. Either way, it didn't matter if Syra had or not since the woman's connection was quite possibly to Lilith herself.  
“The cultist that sent you and Miraak into that book? I ran after her and she threw but one attack and was gone.”  
“Gone?” Syra repeated. “Like she vanished.”  
“I suspect because she doesn't exist, not fully at least, in this world anymore,” Lilth confessed. “No...I know that's why. She long ago shed the flesh that allowed her to move unhindered through Nirn. And now she is a mere spirit, traveling through thought.”  
“You know quite a lot about her,” Syra caught on.  
She was eyeing Lilith, not with suspicion but with a curios sort of glance. One that meant a lot to Lilith, who didn't really want her only friend looking at her like an enemy.  
“This is a shard from an Order Crystal. And my father is the Daedric Prince of Order,” Lilith explained.  
Syra blinked, clearly surprised but not quite knowing, it seemed, how to react. And so she waited, her features settling into a mask of indifference.  
“The last time I saw these was in the Shivering Isles. My father was punished for my birth by being made into a new god essentially. He became Sheogorath and was only allowed to reclaim his realm during a time known as the Greymarch. It was futile as he only got so far before it would end and the cycle would continue. Until mother came up with a way to end it. She chose the perfect time to strike, when all eyes were on the battle against Mehrunes Dagon. She hurried to Haskill, the Mad God's one constant and she struck a deal. When the dust settled and Akatosh retreated, mother was gone and I had a new mission.”  
“And Akatosh had no idea?”  
Syra seemed skeptical and rightfully so. Lilith smirked.  
“He had tasked me with protecting Nirn. And Sheogorath was too mad a mind to be trusted unchecked. It did not seem at all suspicious my actions, given that no one knew of mother's actions who was not personally involved. The plan called to in essence replace Sheogorath so that father could be defeated and freed to wander the wastes of Oblivion. It was not ideal but it was a solution we could not pass up.”  
She turned from the water, taking a seat on the deck and leaning against it. Syra chose to remain standing.  
“I had a few tasks before I could enter the Shivering Isles. The first being that I had to ensure that the Greymarch was set, that my father's Knights were strong. To that, I went to Amarenthine,” she said, the name filling her with a deep and cutting sadness.  
And Syra heard the emotion in her voice. Lilith cleared her throat however and moved on.  
“She was Jygglag's first daughter, forged from the original Order Crystal. He carved her as a likeness to Dibella, whom he of course loved and gave her life. It was not an uncommon practice for the gods to create children. Akatosh had his dragons and Molag Bal his vampires. Amarenthine, as I understand, was welcomed, accepted.”  
“As you understand?” Syra repeated. “Meaning-”  
“Amarenthine is older than I am,” Lilith explained. “And father loved her. And she him. He had created her to help him maintain order and she did so. She was able to see the future, to know what needed to happen for life to continue and so when she sensed a threat or knew her intereference was needed, she would do just that. She could contact mortals through their dreams, with Vaermina's permission. There was little cause then to stage a coup against my father as he still was amicable with the Divines. And so it went that the world spun peacefully. Until my birth.”  
Lilith sighed that last part.  
“My birth and the fact that I was hidden away made punishment severe for my parents and any who helped them. Mother lost the ability to influence this realm personally, her physical form torn asunder. And father's punishment was Sheogorath. His exact opposite. And while Amarenthine had no idea about my whereabouts, she was still punished indirectly. The Shivering Isles were no longer her home and Vaermina made it difficult for Amarenthine to do her duty.”  
She managed a small smile.  
“My sister was resilient though. She fled to Nirn and hid herself away, in places where she would not be disturbed and she summoned the Greymarch when it was time. She gathered the Knights, forged the crystals and led armies in place of our father. And always she hoped it would be the end. That she could return home , Jyggalag could reclaim his place and things could go back to normal.”  
“She didn't hate you? For causing the events?” Serana asked, her question and presence coming from nowehere.  
Lilith glanced at the vampire who sat in front of her, clearly having been there awhile. Lilith had been more focused on Syra but figured it was a tale that would either be repeated or need to be.  
“She loved me,” Lilith said. “I met her once, when I was younger, before the Oblivion Crisis. She had been guiding the world long enough to know that some things were inevitable and I was. And she accepted that. We didn't see each other until I came to her with mother's plan. She assured me the army was ready to reclaiming the Isles. Which meant I needed only to find a new Mad God.”  
“Does this have anything to do with the disappearance of the Hero of Kvatch?” Syra asked.  
Lilith turned to the woman in surprise and Syra looked away.  
“I did some reading,” she admitted. “When I was in the Brotherhood and had down time. I wanted to know what I had missed.”  
Lilith grinned despite the somber tale she'd only half weaved.  
“You could've just asked,” she said.  
“I was avoiding you, remember?” was Syra's reply.  
Ah yes, Lilith did remember. Figuring it better to drop the matter than have Syra try avoiding her again, she returned to her tale.  
“The Oblivion Crisis had ended only a month or so before the Greymarch. Our window was small and we needed the Hero of Kvatch. But he was still grieving. He'd lost many friends to the Crisis, the closest of which was Martin Septim. He had a lot of guilt and regret on that front and his distrust of the Daedric and Divine mirrored yours Syra. While he believed he'd failed Martin, the gods had as well in their failure to keep him alive. He was a mortal who'd been touched by Oblivion. He would see my divinty and daedric natures as well as Amarenthine and Haskill, the Mad God's assistant was not a people person. There was no way to approach him. Until Amarenthine decided to enter his dreams. He knew instantly that he was not dreaming normally and she had no choice but to reveal herself.”  
“Well we know he didn't kill her,” Serana mumbled and Syra snorted.  
“Quite the opposite, really,” Lilith confirmed. “He fell in love with her.”  
“Dumb,” Syra judged.  
“Oh not at first sight,” Lilith scolded, swatting the halfling halfheartedly. “But she visisted him often to gain his trust and it was the result of much time spent together. Either way, he fell in love and came willingly to help. Amarenthine had to remain behind to push the Knights and I worked from the shadows to stir discontent in the courts of Mania and Dementia. Sheogorath was getting attacked from all fronts while Jyggalag began to break through. Meanwhile, Haskill positioned the Hero of Kvatch perfectly to gain the loyalty of New Sheoth's populace as well as Sheogorath's.”  
“And he just let you use him?” Serana asked.  
Lilith's face scrunched up, as if she had smelled something bad.  
“I was not... as good as I am now. I used a lot of underhanded means and at this point, I was not above manipulation. I told him that Amarenthine could not survive much longer without returning to the Isles and he believed me. Everything he did, he did for her. He had no problem taking over as Sheogorath or facing Jyggalag and freeing him. In the end, everyone who mattered...won,” she said, her voice growing small when she noticed Syra's gaze had gotten pretty intense.  
Particularly around the words “who mattered”.  
“I didn't know what it meant for a mortal to take over as a god,” she hurriedly said in her defense. “But you can't kill a god so easily. The Hero, he remained loyal to his position and eventually, the madness took hold. He became Sheogorath in more than name and the madder he got, the more he just...forgot Amarenthine. I had given her back her home and freed our father. But she had surprised me because she'd fallen in love with the Hero. And as she so elegantly put it, I had destroyed him.”  
Syra and Serana were silent and it was that silence that killed her just a bit. Serana's judgement didn't much affect her but at least if the vampire had reacted, given how tied she was to Syra's inner workings, maybe Lilith could have gotten an idea on what her friend was thinking. She let them sit in silence for a few minutes but neither one caved and she threw her hands up in defeat.  
“Last I knew of her, Amarenthine had left the Isles and disappeared into Oblivion to find our father. And before this crystal, I could only assume she either found him or perished.”  
“But this crystal proves neither,” Syra pointed out, her voice steady.  
She finally looked at Lilith, her fingers moving with lightning speed to grab the crystal.  
“This just proves that she chose a different route. She's working against you!”  
Syra's voice was rising with every word, drawing attention from the crew as well as Miraak and Brynjolf, both of who were so busy avoiding each other that they had little time for anything else. Syra threw the shard to the deck.  
“She is responsible!” Syra declared. “For Steinar's death and whether she killed them or not, the deaths of all corpses in Windhelm!”  
Those blue eyes were reptilian slits which told Lilith how deep the rage went.  
“I know and I'm sorry,” Lilith admitted, reaching for her friend.  
She didn't have a plan of action, something in her compelled her to comfort her friend, and Syra practically threw herself away, her actions violent. She looked as though she wanted to say more, needed to in fact but instead she stormed away, choosing to retreat to the opposite end of the ship. Serana remained, gesturing at Brynjolf to go after Syra while she meanwhile returned her attention to Lilith. The vampire seemed at a loss for what to say.  
“She blames me, doesn't she?” Lilith asked.  
“Our bond fades as the days pass,” Serana admitted. “What memories I have of hers are old, from a time when she was someone else. And very little of that person remains anymore. She is upset and rightfully so. But he can and will convince her that she has changed. And so have you.”


	33. The World Eater Arrives

(General)

 

She could feel it, the order, could feel it as it slid further from her grasp. It made her uncomfortable, for there had always been an organization to the mad chaos the realm had fallen into. A method to all the madness, a last remaining apparition of what the realm had been. She hadn't liked surviving alongside a ghost but it was survival. Standing as she did, staring at the sun which fluctuated in the sky, as if it couldn't make up its mind, she almost wept. She could feel the posted Saints and Seducers watching her. They knew who she was, knew her role in the March and despite her actions in its end, they would never trust her. The Isles were not home and never would be again. She felt tricked and her blood boiled a bit but she kept her head, stayed in control of her emotions.  
“Thine!”  
The fragment of her name echoed and she turned to her younger half sister as the woman skipped towards her, sharing the same skeptical stares from the guards. The difference was in the hostility, as the younger had never done anything to them, had never started a March and had in fact greatly helped in ending the current one.  
“Lilithianna,” she greeted, her tone coming out tired.  
She was though. Each Greymarch wore her out and she hadn't yet restored herself.  
“Lilith, I insist,” her younger half sister insisted.  
She didn't give Amarenthine the chance to correct herself, spreading her arms wide in some gesture meant to encase all of the Isles, it seemed.  
“Isn't it wonderful?” she asked.  
“It is chaos,” Amarenthine grouched.  
“There is always method to madness, as you are so fond of saying,” Lilith reminded her with a wide grin.  
“There is no method here,” Amarenthine argued. “Not anymore.”  
Lilith studied her face, no longer as chipper as she had been.  
“Are you...displeased?” she asked.  
Her lips formed an answer automatically and truthfully, she was not certain what that answer would be. The sound of a boisterous laugh stopped her and drew their gazes to doors, to the new Sheogorath and former Hero of Kvatch.  
“Ah someone to cheer you up,” Lilith remarked.  
Amarenthine ignored her as Darus made his way to her side and indeed, just his presence cheered her up, increasing only when he wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her in against his body. The simple gesture spoke wonders to her. It said that she was his and he hers. It was a gesture she'd seen her father, their father, do many times to Dibella. It was how the God of Order asserted himself to others who may covet her and it was the same for Darus. He was a man of battle and order and she loved him so. Now though, looking at him, her heart ached. His copper hair was almost completely white and his eyes were already lost, looking more feline than human. She so missed their warm, brown depths. Her face must have shown distress because his brow furrowed.  
“What has this worrisome expression on your face?” he asked. “Or who? Tell me so I may smite them!”  
He grinned at her and she offered him a small, tight smile.  
“I'm just tired. Greymarches do not come easily,” she informed him.  
“And now they never shall again!”  
He was cheerful and upbeat, basking in their victory as Lilith did. Too similar they were.  
“I believe Thine would benefit from some alone time,” Lilith hinted at, mischievous and suggestive by nature.  
No doubt a result of being raised by Dibella. Regardless, she vanished then, possibly the best trick she knew. Amarenthine turned now to Darus, touching his face, enjoying the hint of stubble she felt.  
“How do you feel?” she asked.  
He had not escaped battling her father unscathed. Any other battle and she would have been at his side, battling with him as she had as they'd crossed the whole of the Isles together. She would not interfere in a battle with the two men she loved most, no matter how much that objectivity had killed her. He curled one hand around hers, kissing her palm.  
“I get better with every day. Haskill says the Isles are helping, claiming me as theirs.”  
He grinned.  
“I will be honest, when I saved Kvatch, I never dreamed the path would lead me to ascension.”  
She didn't have the heart to tell him that he was not ascending, falling into step with him as he led her in a walk. She'd seen the madness that lay in both aspects of his realm and did not wish to see more but she had his time, at last.  
“Tell me, then,” she requested instead. “Has Haskill told you of your duties?”  
“He did,” Darus replied, his face fixed in an expression that said he hadn't quite enjoyed that particular lesson.  
“And?”  
“And while madness is not a realm I saw myself ruling over, it is not the worst.”  
His face shadowed and she knew his mind had gone to Mehrunes Dagon. She had seen how close he and Martin were, how close they would become, though she had no idea of the drawing power of Darus herself. Looking into his face as he fought not to lose himself to dark memories, she marveled on the fact that she'd shaped this man's destiny, had weaved his image into the late Emperor's dreams. It was her hand that had created the circumstances of every pain and sorrow in his life as well as its joy and her meddling only ended with Mehrunes Dagon's defeat. She had never glimpsed more than that to see that their threads would cross. That he would be the one thing that gave her purpose again. And she knew not how to tell him.  
“It is done,” she urged him from his darkness.  
His striking new eyes fell to her, softening and he smiled.  
“Yes it is.”

 

She woke, not realizing she'd fallen asleep. She must not be as accustomed to staying up all night as she had believed. But she had to match Dyre's own biological scheduling. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth. A wasted gesture on their part. For one, her body was only partially in Tamriel, in Nirn, for that matter. Discomforts like cold and hunger she did not feel. Of course, she had thought the same of sleep. She strode to the window, to the harsh silver and slate crystals that she'd weaved over the glass, peering at her reflection without that cursed mask to hide her face. She liked it, looking dangerous, the sharp edges of her face not just tell tale signs of how twisted and black her heart was now but also enough to draw blood. Her body was crystal, the same crystal that once brought the Greymarch, that echoed her father's will and power, until he'd chosen to make it more than a conduit. He'd breathed life into her, given her purpose and in the end had endangered her purpose by selfishly throwing his lot in with Dibella. Smiling, the gesture reflected as more of a sneer, Amarenthine tilted her head, strands of her brown hair falling over her shoulder. She hadn't dreamed or even thought of Darus in so long. The memories made her ache as she realized how empty some parts of her still were. There were places emotions like vengeance and hatred could not go and she had no problem facing that emptiness in the event that her determination and focus ever wavered. That day had not come yet and it never would so long as she saw everything Lilith had gained in the face of her own loss. Reaching down, she secured her mask, the crystal shaking as she hid her face of rage beneath scales of indifference, recalling that for all his love and dedication, Darus had ultimately betrayed her as well. She turned away from her crystal wall ,leaving her room and heading for the throne. In her mind, she replayed the events that had led to her departure from the Isles she'd called home. Remembered the months she'd spent feeling weaker and weaker, wondering why Haskill had seemed so satisfied each time she'd asked him to assist her with one tonic or another, something to bolster her strength. Attempts that never worked. Her hands curled in fists. Good old Haskill, using her father's last remaining loyal subject to weed out the location of Order Crystals and sending Seducers and Saints to destroy them, all actions approved by her mad lover as he lost more and more of his mind to the Isles' influence. How she was the last of those crystals and her wide range of possible brethren were wiped out because of a demented assistant and a manic lover. She emerged into the war room, finding the table empty, the general that usually cowered there gone. Her curiosity was peaked. He never left the room if he could help it, too scared to draw the attention he'd warrant if he slipped through the throne room to escape. She almost dismissed it as him finally growing a pair until she finally made it to the throne room. Ulfric sat in the throne, his eyes glazed over and unseeing. And then there was Dyre, the boy who wanted to be a monster, sitting on his own mangled throne of corpses. He was wiping his mouth, adding the general's body to that throne. Behind her mask, Amarenthine smiled, remembering that he was indeed a glutton. She knew more about him thanks to her master. Hermaeus Mora had always watched over Syra and Dyre was a means of obtaining her for the god's collection. She hadn't been aware when she was just Jyggalag's daughter but the Princes were always in competition with each other, always wanting what the other had and sometimes what their Divine counterparts had. This petty rivalry had led to the little beast before her and his ilk. Her father had stood apart from them all, refusing to really touch anything in the world of mortals lest it be corrupted or he be treading on another of his kind's work. He didn't have time for the pettiness that ran rampant amongst them and this was, of course, before Dibella.  
“I see your making use of the sacrifices,” she remarked of Dyre as she announced her presence.  
She was amused and let it show in her voice. After all, what was it that had destroyed Order but a pretty face? Who wouldn't find that laughable?  
“Syra hasn't shown up yet?”  
Dyre lifted his head, pupils dilated and mouth stained red. He'd certainly eaten his fill.  
“On the contrary. My sister comes here.”  
Amarenthine bit back a chuckle. If she came here, that meant that Miraak lay dead, body congealing probably. She wanted to clap in excitement, having been unable to stand him since she'd met him. More so upon their first meeting as he'd tried many a time to kill her. All for naught.  
“How do you know this?” she asked.  
“We have eyes everywhere, my dear priestess.”  
Dyre hopped to his feet, licking his lips, his hungry gaze turning to Ulfric. It would be so easy to let him sink his fangs into the Jarl but the man was their shield. She was only so strong and her actions had gone unnoticed so long by the Divine because she did not leave a wake of dead bodies in her path. A man such as Ulfric, a man with such a glorious legacy. Even the most uninvolved of their ilk would turn their gaze to see him breathe his last.  
“Turn your eyes elsewhere if you're still hungry,” she hissed, sauntering to Ulfric's side and resting on the arm of his throne.  
The man remained transfixed on nothing, gaze empty as ever, not knowing that the woman beside him was his greatest ally against Dyre. The vampire made a face at her but did not push the issue. He knew better, she hoped.  
“Sister departed from Raven Rock hours ago,” he reported as he began the infernal pacing he so valued.  
She was quite tempted to break them at this point.  
“And what do you intend to do?” Amarenthine inquired.  
“I will send troops of my own to Riften, to hold their army there,” he said. “She will receive no aide save for what she brings with her.”  
“Careful,” Amarenthine chided. “One might assume you didn't want this to be fair.”  
As expected he laughed, enjoying her dry humor and sarcastic wit only when his mood was high.  
“As I always, I move forward with trepidation.”

 

“Let me say what she had difficulty putting into words,” Brynjolf volunteered and Lilith nodded.  
The thief joined her on the deck, looking up at the sun kissed sky above them, at the stars fading as the light overtook them. Lilith hadn't been able to bring herself to go below deck, her guilt that strong. Then again, she hadn't seen Syra go down either. She idly wondered if while she'd been agonizing through the night if Syra and the thief had stolen a few hours of sleep and time, cuddling under the stars. Shaking those thoughts from her head, she realized Syra still hadn't made an escape below deck. Which meant the Dragonborn had given Brynjolf permission to speak for her and chose to remain nearby. Risking it, Lilith glanced over her shoulder and caught the quickest hint of blue as Syra ducked away. Brynjolf snapped his fingers to regain her attention and she gave it, wanting to know where she and Syra stood.  
“Your half sister can see the future and manipulate events to happen. So its not too far a stretch that maybe she caused Dyre's mind to break as it did. That maybe he would've been okay or her father wouldn't have gone out on that last job, that he would've sensed something was off and remained home or sent someone else had you not hurt Amarenthine," Brynjolf explained.  
“She blames me for her life's destruction,” Lilith surmised, understanding the logic.  
He nodded and he now glanced back at Syra who hadn't resumed her spying. Brynjolf nudged Lilith with his shoulder and nodded to the back of the boat.  
“I don't play messenger often,” he said. “And for good reason. Go talk to her.”  
Reluctantly, Lilith rose and crossed the boat. Every step reminded her that even if she stood still, the boat brought them ever closer to Windhelm, a destination Falin had assured them she could get them to in one piece. More or less. Her words. She couldn't go into battle with things left unsaid. So she picked up her pace and, reaching the sliver of boat left behind the cabin was surprised to find Syra sitting on the railing,perfectly still. Lilith leaned next to her, looking at the ocean and the trail they left in it.  
“My mother once told me that this world is an ocean and we are all stones in it,” Lilith stated. “She use to quote an old friend of hers, someone I never met. Each stone, big or small, makes a wave, makes ripples. Though in the case of people, that's not always a good thing.”  
“I want to hate you,” Syra declared. “I want to act like I'm still the same person who came into Skyrim.”  
She sighed, hanging her head.  
“I hate realizing I'm not. Because it makes it all so real.”  
“Syra,if I could go back and know how my actions would affect Amarenthine. I would have chosen anyone else besides Darus. I would have taken over the Isles myself.”  
Syra looked at her then, studying her intensely, seeing only what was behind Lilith's words. Which was truth.  
“I know you would,” she admitted.  
“So, you're not mad?”  
“I'm not mad.”  
She still looked depressed and despite Syra's dislike of being touched, the arch mage enveloped her friend in a surprise hug, squeezing ever so slightly.  
“Ugh,” Syra groaned, fidgeting instantly.  
That was her only attempt at escape and it was meager at best.  
“You're not fighting as much,” Lilith remarked, still hugging.  
She might not get another opportunity.  
“Between you and Brynjolf, I've become rather immune to your overwhelming displays of affection,” she grumbled out her explanation.  
“Speaking of Brynjolf,” Lilith leapt on the topic.  
“You may not,” Syra declared and a grin lighted her features at Lilith's disgruntled huff.  
She shook Lilith off and hopped from the railing, lifting one hand to point at the sky.  
“We'll be at Windhelm's docks within the hour,just beating the sun,” she reported.  
She traced something she saw in said sky and Lilith struggled to find whatever picture had Syra's attention.  
“If that woman is your sister, I'm going to leave her to you,” Syra reported.  
She turned to face Lilith.  
“No one else has the power to take her otherwise.”  
“Wait, were you two back here making battle plans?” Lilith inquired.  
“I made them, he listened. And hen I had nothing else to say, he talked.”  
Syra shrugged.  
“Its our process.”  
Lilith shook her head.  
“Alright, wow me,” she relented.  
“Miraak will be facing Alduin,” Syra went on. “And I intend to help him where I can.”  
“What about Dyre?” Lilith asked, puzzled.  
She studied Syra's face and saw her jaw clench, saw how badly Syra clearly wanted to face him, saw that the nightmares he'd instilled in her would only be ended by his death at her hands. She gave up peace to ensure victory.  
“He was right. We trained together too long. And he's had centuries to hone his skills and learn new one. All I learned was how to run away,” Syra explained, the admission killing her. “Serana is better suited to facing him. She has both magic and power.”  
Lilith rested a hand on her shoulder and offered her a smile, though it did little good.  
“You're doing the right thing,” Lilith assured her. “Not the easy thing and not what you want. But the right thing seldom is.”  
Syra scoffed but said nothing in response to Lilith's words.  
“Bryn says that the Thieves Guild has many assets in Windhelm and to that affect escape routes,” she chose instead. “That they haven't heard from them means there's a good chance they're dead.”  
“Which means Mercer could be involved.”  
“And Astrid,” Syra added. “But that's more Babette's suspicion than my own.”  
“She's about 300 years old, that Babette,” Lilith remarked. “Not someone to ignore.”  
“I am well aware,” Syra agreed. “But neither of them are stupid. At this point, they're in the wind. She's an assassin and he's a thief. Not soldiers and not maniacs. I doubt they ever really bought in to this dragon cult nonsense but were just in it to get ahead.”  
“They're a problem we can worry about later,” Lilith deduced. “The more pressing issue is how we're getting past the walls.”  
“I would have thought you would have read my mind,” Syra remarked dryly.  
“I'm pausing for dramatic effect,” Lilith shot back.  
“Falin assured me she had that covered,” Syra explained.  
“Falin?”  
Lilith's doubt was in her voice.  
“Yes, Falin.”  
“You don't worry that she's a little... not all there?” Lilith asked.  
“I know she's crazy. But you don't send crazy off with one of your best ships and a strong crew,” Syra pointed out. “Whatever else she may be, she's capable. And I'll trust that.”

 

She gave the signal, two of her men dropping her own personal bottles of fog. The Queen's Ruby hadn't seen much battle in awhile, not since it was decommissioned as a war ship. She'd taken a few hits, mostly in defense, from pirates and other unsavories. All she'd come out of near unscathed. But she'd never lead the charge under her new identity. The walls of Windhelm came into view and as she'd expected, there was no trace of anyone on the docks. If they'd cast of at dawn, as had been the original plan, that would be a different story. Leaning as she did against the railing, she wondered of their fate. If they'd come unsuspecting into port, what would have happened? Would she be detained, used to keep the Empire at bay? Or her life bargained with to ensure goods kept finding their way to Windhelm? Even the Queen's Ruby was worth something. After all, it was a warship. Outdated, yes, but still left with cannons and a strong frame. Ashanti pulled at her pant leg, wanting her attention and she looked at the beast a moment before she kneeled, hugging the large neck as she'd done when she'd been a child.  
“We're as close as we can get, Captain,” Thaille reported, appearing from nowhere as he usually did.  
For a man of his bulk, he had no business moving in such a way. Falin grinned, rising and resting a hand on Ashanti's head. For all her wonderful qualities, the Queen's Ruby had one flaw. She had bulk to her. And while Falin appreciated a full figured woman, it made maneuvering a proverbial bitch.  
“Keep us steady, Thaille,” she instructed.  
“Cannon fire?” he asked, falling into step with her as she began making her way towards the cabin.  
“I'll send you a signal if I can. Windhelm may be a rebel city but the people in side are not all soldiers.”  
The last thing she wanted was to find a family crushed by a cannon ball. Thaille nodded that he understood where her mind went before his eyes went to the rag tag group that had emerged, probably aware that they had arrived.  
“Your father would kill me if he knew I was sending you in with strangers,” Thaille remarked, fortunate that said strangers were out of earshot.  
Falin grinned at him.  
“You and I both know I'm capable of looking after myself,” she said, bumping his shoulder.  
“And razing the Hold to the ground as well,” Thaille chuckled.  
He patted her head, mussing her hair.  
“Leave this place in better condition then you left Anvil, please.”  
Falin cracked her knuckles.  
“I make no promises.”  
She slipped away before Thaille could do or say anything else, joining Lilith's awaiting party.  
“How's everyone doing tonight?” she joked, earning her a mix of unamused and serious faces.  
She didn't let it bother her, fixing an amused and bored expression on her face, as if it was just a raid on pirates.  
“This is your captain speaking. If you look due West, you'll see the lovely Hold known as Windhelm. Home of the Palace of Kings. That's all I know about it as I never much paid attention to lessons when I was a kid and I still don't now,” she went on and she saw Brynjolf smirk, biting his lip as he did to avoid outwardly encouraging her.  
“You said you were going to get us in,” Syra prompted.  
“And I am,” Falin assured her.  
She gestured for them to follow her and they collectively did to the ship's side where her men had cleared the cannons, leaving a vast opening.  
“No doubt, you've noticed that my on deck cannons are not secure and for good reason. Those are not multi-purposeful. They do one thing and that's shoot giant balls of fire and iron until other ships sink. I, however, don't just shoot giant balls of fire and iron. I shoot people.”  
“You're going to shoot us into the city?” Lilith inquired.  
“Its way more fun than it sounds,” Falin assured her. “Safe too. I've done it loads of times.”  
“With how many people?” Syra asked, crossing her arms.  
“One.... okay, me and hundreds of pounds of startled lioness. The point is I can do it,” Falin swore. “And the options are limited.”  
“They are,” Lilith agreed. “Amarenthine will no doubt have shards of Order crystals all over the place or at least on the entrances and exits. If even one is disturbed, she will know and we lose the element of surprise.”  
“So its settled then,” Falin crowed in triumph. “Some things to remember. If you can grab onto the wall, grab onto the wall. If not, don't tense when you fall.”  
She could tell an army of questions accompanied her last statement, knew said army was all in the name of nervous delay and so she called forth her magic, letting it seize hold and before any of them could react, she threw them, following in their wake. It was a lot harder to throw herself than it was to throw others but she managed it, enjoying that brief illusion of infinity before she hit the stone.

 

(Syra)

I landed solidly and on my feet, taking a few precarious steps and almost teetering off the edge and just managing to throw my weight back. I spun, face to face now with Falin. She was grinning like a madwoman. I wanted to unleash my fury on her but couldn't really. She'd gotten us in and she was simply following the popular opinion that she was crazy.  
“Ok, besides almost dying,” Lilith said. “Is everyone in one piece?”  
“Yep,” Serana grunted,followed by a grumbled chorus on confirmation from Brynjolf and Miraak.  
“Good,” I said, talking before Lilith could. “You all know what you need to do, so get moving.”  
“I'm suppose to be doing something?” Falin asked and I breathed deeply, kicking myself.  
I honestly hadn't expected her to be here. I glanced at Brynjolf who was watching me. I didn't doubt his capability and I'd argued him into a corner hours earlier. His stake in this wasn't personal and therefore, I couldn't risk him, couldn't put his life on the line so I put him out of the line of fire and told him to get as many people out as he could.  
“Go with Brynjolf,” I ordered. “This fight is going to get messy and I don't need to worry about hurting innocents.”  
No, Dyre had done enough of that for both of us.  
“Sounds fun,” was Falin's response.  
There wasn't much else to say. Everyone knew where to be. Brynjolf to his contact in the Grey Quarter and the rest to the Palace of Kings. And for some reason, as Miraak, Lilith and Serana leapt into action, I couldn't move. Brynjolf either, except to come to me, seizing me in a near bone crushing hug.  
“Don't fall apart now,” I mumbled into his chest and he chuckled.  
“If we live through this, lass, I'll weep then,” he promised.  
I tensed when another arm landed on my back, just above Brynjolf's, discovering that Falin had joined in. She seemed confused by my surprise, offering me a smile.  
“What? Wrong move? I just... I felt a lot of love in this moment and thought it was an anyone can join kind of thing.”  
Brynjolf laughed, backing off and taking Falin with him, the crazy elf.  
“Go set something on fire, Syra,” he ordered, turning and leaving me as if he knew I didn't quite have the strength to leave him.  
Falin waved as she followed and I turned to catch up with the rest.

 

Windhelm was quiet, not the same city I remembered the last time I was here. Then I had been a starving, homeless assassin. Now? I didn't know what I was past finding and ending the horrors that had found there way into it. The closer we got to the city, the more bodies and blood we came across, looking down from the roofs at them as they littered the snow and stone. I could see Lilith's face, see the pain it brought her as she looked at Dyre's handiwork. At her sister's handiwork and by extension her own. She was suppose to protect all of Tamriel, all of its people and she felt she'd failed them. In nearly the same breath as her resolve strengthened and she steeled herself,letting that pain turn into anger. Her magic was on the air, churning around us. She was more than mad. She was pissed. I pitied Amarenthine for just the briefest of seconds before I remembered Steinar who had died because she manipulated events. I reached down, resting a gauntlet on Steinar's blade, drawing strength from his memory. He was no doubt dust now or at least his body was. The rest of him lived on inside Miraak.  
“Cultists,” Serana updated us. “Outside the palace doors.”  
She was right, though I only spotted them as we got closer, not having the benefit of vampire sight. She moved with speed I couldn't match, leaping from the roof, chains of lightning already zipping through them. They may have posed as Thalmor, most of them, but they certainly had enough magic to answer Serana's back with. And that's what I leapt into, sailing off the roof and landing in a snow drift. I rolled from, narrowly avoiding a fire ball right before a wave of Thalmor clad elves and Nords alike surged towards me.  
“Fus!” I roared, knocking them off balance as best I could.  
“Don't hold back!” Miraak yelled.  
He'd landed beside me, using the shock his feet were probably in from such a high jump to his advantage. He kicked back at these cultists, defending against the ones that attacked with blades and axes with his own sword while his staff generated piles of whirling tentacles.  
“Cast offs from Mora?” I demanded.  
“He has not seen fit to take them from me,” Miraak replied. “What better way to repay his kindness?”  
His tone was bitter and his mismatched eyes held a bloodthirstiness I hadn't seen in him before. I didn't address it, shoving men aside with my shoulder, surprised to find that some of them were scrawnier than I was. My eyes scanned for Lilith and I found her, looking like an avenging goddess as men attacked her only to catch flame. Her body was alight with a flame cloak and she was anything but happy, her eyes transfixed on a single point. And as I looked over, I could see what that point was. That priestess had stepped from the Palace, barefoot and nearly naked in the cold air. She reached up, removing the mask and letting waves of brown hair fall forward. Were it not for the sharp, glass like appearance of her face, she could easily have passed for a dark elf.  
“Cease!” she bellowed and at her command, the cultists backed off, each one at the ready as she parted their numbers like a knife through butter.  
“Amarenthine,” Lilith hissed.  
“Lilithianna,” Amarenthine greeted.  
She smiled, the gesture cruel and the corners of her mouth cracked, the sound of glass breaking audible in the winter air.  
“You made yourself a threat I cannot ignore,” Lilith growled. “I have come to kill you.”  
“Look at you,” Amarenthine laughed. “So important, so cocksure. The little abomination come to teach me a lesson.”  
She lifted her hands, her fingers becoming sharp crystals.  
“I am not the weak pacifist you manipulated centuries back, abomination. My master made me strong and I am pure. You can never hope to claim the same nor hope to ever command the power I do,” she bragged. “You can only grasp at straws and barely that so long as you continue trying to behave as the mortals do.”  
Fire gathered in Lilith's hands.  
“I am more than enough for you,” she declared.  
Amarenthine rolled her eyes, glancing over her shoulder.  
“Men, know this,” she cooed, addressing the cultists. “Our master comes to our defense. Let us show him that his followers are not weak!”  
The cultists roared in agreement, rallied and Miraak swore beside me. I glanced his way.  
“She means for them to tire us out,” he said. “To weaken us before Alduin arrives.”  
“Don't worry,” I assured him. “That won't happen.”  
Even as I spoke, the cultists surged forward, still shouting and Lilith chose then to strike, pouring everything she had it seemed into her flames. I could just make out Serana, tearing through men to make it to the doors and had to trust that nothing inside was too much for her to handle.  
“Miraak, back up!” I ordered and I reached inside, willing Nithrogr awake, as if any dragon could resist the blood lust in the air.  
She responded willingly and fast, her body taking over my own, coaxing fire from our throat in a ear shattering shout. It was her body but I was in control, roaring my battle rage at the cultists, only vaguely aware of the suddenly silverish gray crystals that sprang up at Amarenthine's will. She was not my job, the cultists were and a dragon did not deter them, so confident in Alduin's power were they that they didn't see me as a threat until my jaws were around them or my fire engulfed them. Their screams echoed in the emptying courtyard , a horrible chorus even as their numbers dwindled and their bloody or charred corpses hit the ground.  
“Nithrogr!”  
Miraak's voice held warning, a warning he needn't have made. Everything in me could sense another dragon, especially one so close to Akatosh and I lifted my gaze into the sky, away from what few cultists remained, beating their useless weapons against my scale armored body. Black wings cast a shadow over the battlefield, blotting out the dying moon and carrying the harbinger of destruction. I roared at him, disputing his claims of dominance and his very presence. And he roared back, landing, his scaled body curling around the top of the Palace of Kings. Red eyes pierced into my very soul, as if he could see us as individuals rather than the beast we were. It did not matter now, his men that lay dead, wounded or stupidly loyal at my feet. All that mattered was that Alduin, the World Eater, had arrived.


	34. Heat of Battle

(General)

 

She hit the ground hard, robe torn and hands sliding in blood. None her own, only by pure luck. Lilith looked to Amarenthine, to an opponent that she had little hope of beating. Amarenthine once guided fate and from the shimmer of her deadly eyes, she now used it, her crystals appearing everywhere Lilith attempted to go. Never hitting her. Merely taunting her with the knowledge that, at any second, Amarenthine could simply choose to end it. And Lilith couldn't stop her. It was enraging, all the same and she threw up her hands, calling on ancient spells rather than those she'd picked up to have some hope of blending into the current , taking a deep breath as a cocoon wrapped around her, the vines that made it up cracking the stone beneath her feet. Her heart raced and a small scream escaped her lips as shards of crystal hit the side. She only relaxed a smidgen when she realized they hadn't gotten through. She'd seen battle before. That wasn't the issue. But in all those cases, as strong as her foes had been, she'd always known she was stronger. But Amarenthine was stronger now and while Lilith had been raised by Dibella, a goddess who appreciated beauty over war, Amarenthine had been created to wage it.  
“I could use a hand here,” she mumbled but her only response was the sound of battle outside of her cocoon.  
She swore then, knowing she couldn't hide forever. Rising a bit to balance on the balls of her feet, she touched the vines, felt their power and then she lunged forward, willing the vegetative wall to part. Amarenthine didn't expect that, leaping to the side, sliding across the blood slicked stone and coming to a stop only when she raised a crystal wall to heed her progress. Her onslaught didn't stop there as she lunged forward, throwing what she could at Lilith who let the vines protect her. She could at least do that, at least keep Amarenthine occupied. For how long, well, she didn't know.

 

He didn't know why but when Nithrogr or Syra or whichever one was in control took to the air, he grabbed hold, intent to not be left behind. She sensed his presence but didn't mind as she attacked Alduin. He was enraged by her insolence and he fought without mercy, using every advantage he had. Miraak held tight, guarding his face as balls of fire rained down, the smoke burning just as hot. In that smoke was where Alduin hid, cutting through it as silently as an assassin to slam into Nithrogr. He was bigger but not faster and she slid away from him before he could latch onto her and do any real damage. And thus far, she'd avoided the fire balls, choosing not to fight fire with fire but rather freezing what she could, including Alduin's tale.  
“If you can get one of his wings, we can bring him down,” Miraak strategized, having crawled his way to her head.  
He had no idea if she heard him until she banked right, her change of course lining her up with Alduin's underbelly. The ebony dragon nearly screeched to a halt, not wanting to be too exposed, also changing direction so that he shot into the sky, dodging the storm he'd created. Nithrogr followed, a stream of ice following him as he went. Alduin roared his anger as he felt the pressing cold, whipping his head around to blow fire at them. Nithrogr was fast but not fast enough and Miraak fell back a bit to avoid suffering any burns. He pitied both the dragon and the woman as he realized that their red scales were scorched by Alduin's flames and no doubt Syra had felt the fire as well. Worrying about wounds came later however and Miraak made sure that this risk, getting closer to the raging serpent, was not wasted, drawing his sword. He'd relieved one of Falin's men of it as a backup, should Mora intervene. Thus far the god had not but he would rely on the accursed weapons no more than necessary. Burned but not beaten, Nithrogr pressed on and there was an understanding between them as they both realized what needed to be done. Picking up speed, she drew closer to Alduin who still flew into the heavens and as his tail came into range, she snapped quickly, her jaws closing down on it. Miraak knew then he had to move and move he did, running across the blood red scales that meant safety and leaping onto the black scaled back of his destined enemy. He had no time to seek out a weak spot amid those black scales and instead plunged his sword with as much force as he could manage into the World Eater's back. Wisely, Nithrogr chose to fall back, folding her wings in as Alduin turned to snap, not appreciating the nipped tail or the sword that stuck out of his back. No longer was Nithrogr his main concern. Alduin realized rather quickly that he'd picked up a passenger and he fully intended to give Miraak the ride of his life. With naught but a sword to keep him on the dragon, Miraak braced as Alduin rocketed out of the sky, the wind slapping at his face and he wished for his mask, if only to stop the stinging bite of the cold against his cheeks. The Palace of Kings came into view, rushing closer and Miraak realized the dragon intended to scrape against it, smearing him wherever he could. Thinking fast and only of immediate survival, he released the sword, leaping, midair, from Alduin's back as the dragon plowed into one of the walls, knocking stones free that only benefited Lilith who was alternating between fighting her sister and defending from the cultists. Miraak, himself, landed on the Palace's roof, sliding along and only just barely managing not to fall off. He was almost dreading the possible retaliation he'd face once Alduin was up except for the fact that the dragon didn't get the chance. Nithrogr was on him, her sharp claws digging into his back, her jaw closing around his neck and drawing blood. Alduin roared his pain becoming angry as the two dragons thrashed, their bodies knocking into the wall. And Miraak could see his borrowed sword, digging deeper and deeper into Alduin's back, could see the blood that welled up there as well. If he could get the blade, could pull it out, it, coupled with the blood from Nithrogr's current bite would weaken the World Eater further.

 

Falin slid to a halt, looking back at the sheer chaos, watching what she could see of it, fairly secure in the Grey Quarter.  
“There are dragons!” she exclaimed.  
She looked to Brynjolf, to the faces of the people they'd managed to find hiding throughout the city, all different versions of afraid and terrorized.  
“I am missing dragons!”  
“Trust me, you're missing nothing,” Brynjolf said and she smirked.  
He shook his head, a small smile saying he didn't believe himself either. Still they had a job to do.  
“Let's keep moving,” he urged and pressed on.  
The streets they took, leading to the docks, were empty and quiet. But it was still tense travel. The people had whispered warning of cultists posted throughout, to watch the exits and stop anyone who made for them. Which was precisely what Brynjolf and Falin were attempting to do. His eyes nervously scanned the buildings, looking for any trace of movement,even the slightest of changes.  
“Thaille no doubt will have let Ashanti loose on the docks,” Falin mused quietly.  
A volume Brynjolf hadn't been sure she knew.  
“Its as secure as anything can be then,” he replied.  
“Don't underestimate Ashanti. She's so effective at what she does, pirates tell tales of her legendary savagery!” Falin bragged.  
Brynjolf snorted, an avid enjoyer of wild tales. He'd never heard mention of a lioness or Falin. Glancing at her, where she stood at his side, faintly humming with magic as they pressed against a wall, eyeing the open pathway that led through the Quarter and to the docks and seeing nothing. He moved forward, quietly, urging those who'd been trapped to follow.  
“So, care to explain why I've never heard of you?” he asked.  
Falin smirked. Despite her relaxed posture and distracted nature, he could see something below the surface, something dark and she tilted her head just so, the necklaces she wore slipping aside a bit to reveal a black ring around her neck. His eyes narrowed on it instantly, the contrast to her bronzed skin alarming. She rolled her eyes and he knew that the slip had been intentional.  
“My mother was a slave, sold to a friend of my grandfather's. She chanced upon my father and they fell in love. He bought her and freed her and eventually married her. My sister was born and then me,” she explained, eyes scanning as they moved.  
She was now more alert than him. Which was probably better since he could only do so much compared to someone who could magically throw people.  
“When I was 7, the slavers who'd owned mom raided our wagon as we were heading to the Imperial City from Anvil. Almost killed father. Crippled Audarra.”  
She snorted, looking somewhat cynical.  
“They ruined perfectly good product being stupid,” she scolded shaking her head. “My mother and I were slaves for six years, dragged everywhere by slavers as they tried to avoid my father, grandfather and a whole slew of Imperial forces. Until one day, they couldn't run fast enough. They got caught and father handled them.”  
She cracked her knuckles, her gloves muffling the sound as she raised a hand, stopping their progress with a gesture. Her green eyes flashed as if she was picking up a sound. Given that they'd been moving so fast specifically because of the dragon battle going on only feet from them, this pause had to be because somehow, she'd picked up a sound other than that. A new one and if Brynjolf had been paying better attention, he would have heard it to. Falin didn't give the all clear but kept speaking.  
“My father taught me that life had ups and downs. You didn't have to let yourself be walked all over, regardless of your lot in life but that it still could happen. That the important thing was to just be enough to ensure that you could be happy.”  
Her fingers moved, magic humming around them now and she smiled now, her face settling comfortably into the expression.  
“There are no stories about me because I don't leave anyone alive to tell them. I want happiness without having to worry about looking over my shoulder every day for a whole line of enemies,” she went on.  
That's when he caught it, the stampede of boots that echoed from on high. His gaze trailed upwards as he watched bodies leap from the roof tops, dressed in armor that fit that of the Morag Tong.  
“Falin,” he said.  
As expected she was already on it, her magic forming a bubble that caught the falling bodies, their weight dragging it down in places but otherwise keeping them safe. When enough had piled on, however, she threw them aside, immediately aware of the handful of wards magically adept ones had conjured.  
“I hate those things,” Falin mumbled as Brynjolf drew his sword.  
“Wards?”  
“Very much so,” she replied, reaching into her tall boots.  
She moved with speed, the only sound a whistle of air as her the secret knives she threw hit their marks, two of the ward wielders downed in seconds.  
“How equipped are you,” Brynjolf asked.  
“Very,” she replied.  
The Tong impostors still remaining were closing in now, aware that the elf was packing and the Nord was an unknown. Falin glanced at the people with them, many that had the clear look of emancipation and others who were so traumatized, they just accepted that this was it. That they were going to die.  
“Bryn,” Falin said.  
She hummed with magic again, hands curling into fists.  
“Yeah?”  
He was a bit eager that maybe she was going to come up with some brilliant strategy. Foolish, he supposed, given what he knew of her.  
“Take them and go,” she commanded. “I can handle these idiots.”  
“Falin,” he objected.  
“You have one sword, Nord,” she cut him off. “And from what I've seen, no magic.”  
They took a synchronized step back together, realizing that the force approaching was getting closer.  
“Just get out to the docks and leave the door open. Ashanti has never left me behind and she won't now.”  
She seemed certain, confident and Brynjolf sighed, knowing this was not the time to argue. Any other time and he'd have a million contingencies for every possible thing to go wrong. Apparently not being an active thief anymore had dulled his skills. He gritted his teeth but turned to the citizens.  
“Keep moving!” he ordered, herding them on.  
Falin watched him go, before she turned back to her opponents, dropping her usual smirk.  
“So, guys, before we go any further, I think we need to have the talk,” she informed them.  
Her movements were subtle, a simple fidget there to work the knife from the sheath she kept strapped to her wrist, feeling the ghost touch of the blade and its hilt as it slid down her skin.  
“I don't care your faith, your race or your gender. You're all the same in my eyes. Though the one I will remember is either the most flexible or the biggest. Depends on which presents more of a challenge. Now then-”  
She brandished her knife defensively, crouching slightly.  
“Who's first?”

 

She ducked instantly, avoiding the streams of lightning that shot over her head, searing into the door she'd come through. Serana rolled across the stone floor, finding shelter under the table.  
“Serana, I wasn't expecting you.”  
There was surprise in his voice. He'd probably expected Syra to be coming through the door, for Syra to come for him. She was only too pleased to know she'd disappointed him even as that disappointment turned into disgust, her nose wrinkling as the smell of the room hit her. Rot. She'd smelled it often enough as her father's madness reached its peak before her mother had hidden her away and she saw its source. Bodies littered the floor of the great hall, in various states. Faces twisted in horror or mindless bliss, necks wounded. Either slit or decorated with fang marks. Serana surveyed all of it with an amassing feeling of nausea. She had to wonder if this madness had been caused by becoming a vampire or if, deep down, the sweet boy in all Syra's borrowed memories was an illusion to hide the monster he had always been.  
“I thought you liked surprises,” Serana said without humor.  
Dyre smiled and she could see those fangs of his, still tinted red, blood like paint on his lips.  
“You have no comprehension of my preferences.”  
“I don't want to,” Serana declared.  
She chose then to leap onto the table, zipping across the table, her empty hand picking up a knife along the way. Dyre smiled, watching her approach, backing up only a few feet as she leapt at him, leading with the knife. Rather than the retreat she had expected, he leaned into the attack, redirecting it, throwing her aside with her own momentum. Serana didn't care. She was better at ranged attacks, her body twisting and lightning cracked to life, tearing through the air. Dyre was not the spell user she was but he knew enough, his ward springing to life last second.  
“Now Serana. You didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?” he inquired.  
His knuckles cracked, his hand already reforming as he shed the mortal facade he hid behind, the sharp talons of his inner monster exposed as the transformation took place.  
“I prepared for Syra,” he went on. “A far bigger threat compared to the likes of you.”  
Serana glared daggers at the vampire lord before her, not at all intimidated. In fact, her resolve to destroy him was stronger now, staring her down as if his madness trumped her reasons for wanting him dead. As if he wasn't responsible for the slaughter they fought amongst.  
“I can give you a moment,” he said, as if he really expected her to follow his lead.  
Serana sneered at him.  
“I don't need to warp myself to beat you,” she declared. “I am a daughter of Coldharbour and I'm stronger than you will ever be, no matter how much time passes or what form you take.”  
She cracked her knuckles, curling her hands into fists, letting flames spark to life, licking her skin. Dyre roared at her boasting, his inferiority always a sore spot and she grinned, knowing just what threads to pull to incite his anger when she needed to. She let him charge this time, let him come to her, the knife she'd grabbed clutched in her hand, slowly succumbing to the heat of the fire she held. Dyre closed in, his speed something she hadn't quite calculated for and she braced herself, thrusting her hands forward, flames eating their way across the distance, what little of it remained, between the two vampires. She saw the start of a ward going up and that was it, right before the ceiling above collapsed. Dyre was instantly lost amongst the falling stone and Serana knew better than to let revenge blind her, ducking out of the way as a roaring dragon emerged from the rubble, his body covered in black scales, his jaws snapping and latching onto the hide of the red dragon that seemed determined to make up for its smaller size by slamming him into whatever surface it could. Serana kept moving, one eye on the warring dragons as they raged atop the stone, the other searching for somewhere that limited her chances of being crushed. Neither dragon seemed to care that she was skirting their fight, too focused on each other, on tearing the other apart.  
“Syra is the red one, in case you were wondering.”  
Serana nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling, prepared for Dyre or some other minion, only to find Miraak. He was dusting himself off, covered in melting snow and dirt, a bleeding cut marring his face and a million more it seemed on his arms.  
“What happened to you?' Serana demanded to know.  
“I was on the roof,” he replied.  
His mismatched eyes scanned the remains of the great hall.  
“Where's Dyre?”  
“Hopefully under the stone,” Serana admitted.  
Her gaze went back to the dragons and, following hers, so did Miraak's. Her hands crackled with lightning and she let out a deep breath, preparing herself.  
“Not your fight,” Miraak warned.  
“That is where you're wrong,” Serana insisted.  
She didn't explain, didn't feel she had to as she charged forward, skillfully moving through the debris, thrusting her hands out, waves of lightning shocking the air before colliding with ebony scales. Alduin ignored her, mostly, the bigger threat Syra who had sunk her teeth just shy of his throat. Serana wasn't deterred, channeling her magic into an ice spike, aiming for one of the sources of blood that she could see. She only knew she'd hit it as Alduin roared, his body whipping around violently. He slammed Syra against the wall, stunning her as she released his throat. That chaotic dragon's head whipped to her, fire building in his throat. Serana barely managed a ward, the result of the dragon's power forceful enough that behind her ward, she felt the briefest tinge of heat, her feet sliding in the grainy stone beneath her.  
“Wuld Nah Kest!”  
Her ward failed and she felt the heat, felt it just barely scorch her palm. In that same span of heart beats, she felt Miraak, knowing it was him only by chance. He sped forward, catching her in his wake, dragging her to safety. Alduin, focused on them now, lurched forward, his massive body covering the distance Miraak had created. He grabbed Serana's hand, yanking her behind him as they ran, stumbling every so often in their hurry, around the still standing throne and towards the great doors. All the while tailed by Alduin who was much faster. Miraak hit the door, shoving with all his strength only to find that it was blocked from the other side, probably by more fallen remains from the roof.  
“The other door!” Serana suggested breathlessly.  
He hurried to push it only to find that it budged a mere inch before meeting resistance. His heart sank fast. He had not thought his freedom to be so short lived but nevertheless, he turned to face his destiny, stepping in front of Serana as she began shoving against the door, her vampiric strength creating some space but not enough for even her slight frame to escape through. Miraak did his best to shut out her efforts, his gaze on the charging dragon, his lips already forming a shout, one that wouldn't be enough. Whatever Dyre had done, or even Amarenthine, gods it felt good to have a name for her now, they'd somehow made the World Eater stronger than he ought to be. Or else Miraak overestimated the strength it had taken centuries to acquire. His heart stopped as those sharp teeth drew closer, any second he'd feel them digging into his flesh and he could only stare, fear choking whatever shout he could manage. Syra felt no such hesitation, there in an instant, on Alduin's back, her own sharp claws latching onto his scales. She fought with as much strength as her smaller frame could manage, her teeth sinking into the collection of scales defending the base of his neck. Alduin roared his displeasure, his wings lifting him with each power fueled flap, lifting himself into the air and dragging Syra with him as she snapped at him. Miraak could only stare as his adrenaline calmed just enough, still pumping enough to keep him from collapsing as he watched the dragons crash through what was left of the roof.

 

She threw up her hands, the armor of vines that encased her weaving itself perfectly to protect her from Amarenthine's crystals. The potions she'd secured to her belt clinked together, only three remaining, having somehow survived the barrages of crystals that her half sister sent her way. With each wave, she got a growing sense of franticness from Amarenthine. As if she needed Lilith to feel powerless, as if there was no point if she couldn't tear Lilith's mind apart with fear and anxiety before she shredded her flesh. Lilith almost felt pity, holding her ground, defending. Always defending, hoping Amarenthine wouldn't notice the cracking stone pathway beneath their fight, the vines Lilith could spear tunneling at her command, rooting the source of Amarenthine's crystals. It was getting hard. Crystal moved much faster then vines and it was only in the thinnest of breaths that Lilith had managed to keep the most potentially lethal of attacks from hitting her. Even still, blood dripped down her arm, her robe's sleeve cut cleanly.  
“Father is free now!” Lilith informed her half sister, hoping to slow the assault. “With how expansive Oblivion is, he'll no doubt find another realm. He'll need you Amarenthine!”  
“Need me?” Amarenthine snorted, taking the bait.  
Lilith almost cried in joy before jumping as slate crystal spikes stabbed into the ground on either side of her as well as behind her. She guided her vines, directing them to circle her, letting a few rest over vulnerable parts of her body, namely her jugular.  
“I was shaped in the image of your mother, urged to protect you.”  
Those spikes shook, a by product of Amarenthine's rage that had centuries to grow. The spikes began to grow thorns and Lilith realized with dread she was not the only one planting a trap. She channeled more power into her own, hoping that she'd finish first.  
“He couldn't even take me with him when his family ran,” Amarenthine spit. “I was not you, not the love child. Not an abomination.”  
Her crystals shook.  
“For all his talk about Order, he created a great deal of chaos,” she remarked. “I'll fix it.”  
Lilith made her move then, her vines shooting from the ground, wrapping around Amarenthine. Confident that her vines knew their tasks, she focused her attention on the crystals surrounding her, bolting from the circle of them as the thorns shot free, ripping through the air and piercing the stone where she'd been standing. Lilith ran, ignoring the few thorns that caught her, shredding her robes further, biting her lip when a crystal sliced at her legs. Amarenthine shrieked somewhere behind her, frustrated at the vines that had encircled her body, yanking her down. Lilith cast a quick glance back, regretfully watching as her half sibling was swallowed whole by the vines, her rage induced screeches accompanied by the occasional emergence of a slate crystal, quickly swallowed again by the vines. Lilith, fairly safe now, took a moment to collapse against a large slab of stone, her body shaking. Ancient spells ate at her magic faster than more recently learned spells, especially when she didn't have time to plan them. She chastised herself, knowing she should head indoors, to assists Serana, Miraak and the rest, having seen the two dragons crash against the Palace of King's roof, swallowed whole as the roof collapsed, yet unable to move as she regained her bearings. As it turned out, she needn't have moved, surprised when Alduin tore through the roof, Syra along for the ride. She marveled as the two broke apart, Syra arching perfectly, the turn sharp but well executed, especially given the less than perfect turn Alduin completed, his larger size unable to sharply turn. Still, he fought with brute force, slamming into Syra, the two dragons flipping through the sky, tearing each other apart as they did, their chaos violent. Lilith could only stare, the world seeming to slow when Alduin's jaws closed around Syra's wings, tearing with little regard. She knew, just knew, that Syra would fall, even before she started her decline. She racked her brain for any spell, anything. Because there was no way she or Amarenthine or any of the cultists still alive would survive a dragon landing on top of them. She didn't think fast enough, didn't move, instead watching in horror as the falling dragon shrunk, steadily, until it was Syra, mortal Syra, that hit the unforgiving stone ground with a sickening thud. All she could hear was white noise after that, the sound seeming to go on forever even though she knew it was a matter of seconds.  
“Syra!” she screamed unable to really stop herself, running and stumbling to the immobile dragon born.  
As expected, there was no response, no movement on Syra's part. And Lilith worried. Was she dead?


	35. Sovengarde

(Syra)

 

I took stock of my body, not an easy task because everything hurt. I had dozens of bleeding wounds and the scorching taste of dragon blood in my mouth, pretty sure one eye was forever sealed shut by a mix of my blood, Alduin's blood and dirt. Not to mention the fact that I had just slammed onto stone ground,a pure dead drop. Maybe, just maybe, I could have avoided it, maybe even bounced back from it as Nithrogr. But it would have meant sacrificing Lilith, the only person in the courtyard I gave a damn about. For all her magic and know how, no way could she survive being crushed by a dragon. I managed to open my good eye, my gaze trailing upwards as Alduin landed, slowly, as if he was taking the time to savor my end. I had to move, trying to force my body to respond and I got far enough for my fingers to twitch. Not fast enough as Alduin, his large body effortlessly landing above me, his hot breath engulfing my face as he stared down at me, his red eyes practically glowing with the mix of malice and sick glee, if such a thing were possibly portrayed in dragons.  
“Nithrogr,” his voice echoed in my head. “You retreat. Do you finally acknowledge that you are no match for me?”  
Nithrogr raged inside of me and I was too weak to stop her, my sight suddenly intensifying as it did when she took over. But she was weakened too and there was only so much that she could push.  
“She is better than you,” I managed.  
My mouth was on fire, that fire spreading down my cheek as his blood dribbled down my cheek. I didn't let it deter me.  
“She gave me a life when I should have died,” I added. “A legacy of dragons that do nothing but take. Lives, land and she went against it all and gave.”  
I shot him a sneer.  
“She is so much better than you and you think that your violent nature makes you superior.”  
Those eyes glittered with absolute hatred now. And there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to die. I closed my good eye, accepting in that regard. I couldn't very well run at the moment. The cold vanished, replaced by an almost blistering heat and I forced myself not to be foolishly brave, not to stare death in the face, gritting my teeth as the heat became unbearable. Until it wasn't there anymore, replaced instead by the whoosh of air and a cold snow bank. Hissing as the sudden movement jostled my injured body as well as at the cold, I opened my eyes, shocked to find Falin riding astride Ashanti, the likes of which was streaked with blood. Alduin roared his annoyance at my escape, built up flames emerging from his mouth as he turned on Falin. She smirked, smirked!, in the face of the World Eater, throwing up her one hand and changing the course of his flames as if it were nothing. Her other hand reached for her bow, which was slung over her shoulder. With speed, she had an arrow, firing carefully, the projectile hitting Alduin right in his eye. All the while, Ashanti kept running, her paws splashing through blood and sleet as she carried her mistress to my side. Not a smart idea, given that Falin had caught the attention of one very angry dragon but in what felt like no time, Lilith was there, sparks of lightning shooting from her hands, hitting the sword that still stuck out of Alduin's flesh, leaving an exposed wound that was perfect for attacks. He was still bleeding. Ashanti slid to a halt beside me and Falin leapt off, kneeling next to me, a healing spell already in her hands. I didn't object, unsure what good a spell would do me at the moment.  
“Where's Brynjolf?” I asked her, looking into those green eyes.  
“He's safe,” she promised me. “Ashanti wouldn't be here if he wasn't.”  
She didn't elaborate and I didn't ask, letting my head lull towards the Palace of King's doors, in time to see Serana and Miraak drop to the ground, finally free of the great hall. Miraak wasted no time, picking up a discarded sword and charging into battle. Serana paused at my side, kneeling, one hand on my shoulder.  
“You okay?” she asked.  
“I'm not dead yet,” I replied.  
She nodded and was gone, following Miraak and Lilith's lead. Falin helped me sit up, her fingers touching my wounds, a spell on her lips. My skin knitted back together, slowly. Much slower than I had hoped.  
“I can't heal you all the way,” Falin remarked.  
She cast a glance at Alduin, finally face to face with Miraak.  
“Can he beat him?” she asked.  
“He has to,” I insisted.  
“Because he's the Dragonborn?”  
She seemed puzzled by the concept.  
“You're Dragonborn.”  
“I'm not The Dragonborn,” I pointed out. “This isn't my destiny.”  
Falin studied me, really eyeballing me as if she was trying to figure me out. I chose to ignore her, my gaze steadily focused on Alduin and Miraak. The dragon was losing, at least it looked that way on the surface. Between Lilith, Serana and Miraak, he couldn't keep up, his wounds still hindering him. When he'd attack one, another attacked and he'd find himself facing lightning or Lilith's strange vines. I could feel his frustration, like a fog in the air. Once more, those red eyes shot to me, murder in them as if I was the source of all his misfortune. And his that rage fueled him, his tail whipping around, catching Lilith by surprise this time, slamming into her and sending her flying, the vines that had slowly wrapped around him withering away.  
“That looked like it hurt,” Falin remarked as she got up, clearly no longer concerned with me.  
I was grateful as she darted across the mix of stone and mangled bodies to an unmoving Lilith, leaving me to crawl to my feet, knees shaking before I managed to brace them and fully rise. I managed to stay on my feet for what amounted to two seconds before I was hit from behind and sent face first to the stone below. As if I hadn't spent enough time on it. I glared up at Amarenthine, though we hadn't been formally introduced. The bitch had the gall to smirk at me, despite being covered in withered vines and that was as far as she went as she looked to Alduin, her body practically reshaping before my eyes, crystals rising from her skin, glowing with daedric energy. And then, flying away, collecting in mid air to open a shimmering portal, the light of which radiated blindingly. I closed my eyes against it, hearing the tell tale sign of Amarenthine running for it. And then I heard the sound of Alduin's wings, carrying him away and I forced myself to peek, seeing the blurriest image of him flying towards the portal, disappearing inside.  
“No!” I cried out, scrambling back to my feet.  
Adrenaline was pumping but my body only obeyed so much, shaking a bit even as I looked at that portal, felt the energy that seeped from it. I looked to Miraak next as he and Serana ran towards it.  
“He can't get away!” I insisted as Miraak got closer.  
Yet for all his talk, I could see the fear in his mismatched eyes. I couldn't blame him. He'd spent centuries trapped in Apocrypha, under the thumb of a Prince. I knew the feeling. I'd be just as hesitant to leap through a strange portal, after having my freedom back. I'd lived that fear and still did, knowing Molag Bal could be lurking around any possible corner. Miraak looked to me, as if he knew where my mind went, as if he could. Despite knowing where his fear came from and knowing that it was probably very much like a steel fist clutching his heart, I couldn't sympathize.  
“Fine,” I said. “Stay.”  
I acted before my brain could stop me, charging into the glowing portal, leaping and only letting myself think about it when the damage had been done and the magic within it wrapped around me, sucking me away from Skyrim to who knows where.

 

(General)

 

Lilith moaned as she came to. Her stomach ached, that was the first thing she knew. As did her head. Opening her eyes, she stared up at Falin, confused at first until it all came back to her. Alduin. Right.  
“Did we win?” she asked.  
“Define win?” Falin retorted, essentially answering that question.  
Lilith sat up, slowly, the ache in her head sharpening. Despite what Falin had said, the destroyed courtyard was quiet, littered with cultist bodies draped in the armor of either the Thalmor or the Morag Tong. There was, however, no sign of Alduin or Amarenthine. Or Syra. Yet Miraak stood across the expanse, staring at the place where Syra had last been while Serana crouched next to him, both of them quiet and unmoving. Lilith got to her feet with no help from Falin, a plus, hurrying over. She felt as she always did after a battle. Drained and weary, still ready for a fight, hoping that the chaos was over however.  
“Where's Syra?” she demanded as soon as she got close.  
The words had fallen out of her mouth as soon as Serana had turned to look at her, the vampire's eyes dimmed by exhaustion.  
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Serana admitted.  
She gestured at the air, at the sense of magic that lingered there. It was strong, powerful. Divine. Lilith's eyes couldn't help but widen.  
“Syra leapt into a portal that your sister conjured,” Serana explained. “After Alduin.”  
She rose, brushing snow from her armor, the likes of which was torn. They all were in bad shape. Miraak was bleeding, his exposed skin rubbed raw and he leaned a bit more to the right, relieving some pressure in his left foot. Lilith's own robes were torn or stained with blood, her body ached fiercely and she felt numb, the magical drain hitting her now. All a result of battle with Alduin and Amarenthine, both of whom would crush Syra in her weakened and outnumbered state.  
“We have to go after them,” Miraak insisted.  
“I'm game,” Falin piped up.  
She actually seemed excited by the possibility and all too nonchalant for what they were suggesting and agreeing to. Miraak looked at her now, his eyes pleading, begging her to fix the situation.  
“Why didn't you go?” Lilith couldn't help but ask.  
She could see so much in his eyes. There was guilt there and a hatred turned inward. But she didn't have time to coddle him, time to make sure he was okay.  
“I-I couldn't.”  
His admission was so agonized and broken and she understood. She had been to Apocrypha, had wandered in its darkness. Endless centuries of that couldn't have been easy but they were not undeserved. For him at least.  
“Syra spent centuries in Coldharbour,” Lilith said, her voice even and laced with the pure rage that stirred in the pit of her stomach. “The horrors of which you cannot even imagine. And she jumped into the unknown without a thought. And you hesitated.”  
He already felt the guilt, that same feel of cowardice eating at his Nordic pride. Lilith turned away from him in disgust, her gaze landing on Serana.. The vampire was staring at her in disapproval and it was enough to chastise Lilith. Syra didn't benefit from them being at each others throats.  
“I won't hesitate,” Miraak assured her.  
There was resolve in his voice, a fierceness that she should have found reassuring but didn't.  
“I cannot open a portal to follow where they've gone,” Lilith said.  
She knew Alduin's secrets well, courtesy of Odahviing. Where the dragon rested, she could not follow.  
“Unless granted permission, I cannot leave Nirn,” Lilith explained.  
Her gaze went upward, at the sky above.  
“And that permission would take too long to get.”

 

He flinched a bit, the redguard pulling the bandage taut, tucking it neatly and securely. His arm throbbed with the ache, his body coming down from the adrenaline rush. What of Windhelm hadn't ended up a casualty had made it to Falin's ship. And true to her word, Falin had kept the brunt of Alduin's cultists off them, only a few stragglers left for him to handle. Handle he did, left mostly unscathed save for a bleeding gash on his shoulder, which Falin's first mate saw to with skill that spoke of a healer's background.   
“There you go,” the redguard said, patting his arm.  
He seemed proud of himself but knew enough to keep moving, to make sure that the remainders of Windhelm had food and attention. Brynjolf sat back, staring at the city, telling himself that the absence of angry dragons in the sky was a good sign, if only to keep himself seated and out of the way. Falin packed a punch all her own, Serana was a vampire, Lilith was, well, Lilith and Miraak was a hero of old. And of course, Syra was able to become a dragon. This fight had their names all over it. Meanwhile, he had no business in its midst. He was a thief. Not the best and not the worst, but a thief nonetheless. In the grand scheme of things, he'd played a small part, barely worth mentioning. A footnote really. He sighed, deeply. He was exhausted.  
“Feeling faint?”  
The redguard was back, materializing almost from nowhere. Brynjolf shook his head. Those dark eyes studied him and then nodded towards the city.  
“That little bundle of crazy that flung y'all in? That little girl is the closest a lot of us have to a daughter,” he confessed.  
He nodded across the deck, at an impressively built Nord, bigger than most if Brynjolf was being honest. He'd seen the man haul up the anchor on his own before disappearing below. He was older and missing an eye. Yet despite his size and the missing eye, he had little presence.  
“He's seen more than his fair share of battle,” the redguard explained. “The definition of a broken man. He went to fight the Dominion and all it got him was a dead family. He quit for years or so he says. Out on the streets until little Falin found him. He had his scars and she had her slave bands. They formed a bond over the crappy hand dealt to them and he came to work for her father. And as soon as Falin got her ship, he volunteered to be on it. Don't doubt that if he had any reason for concern, he'd be in those walls.”  
The Nord looked up with his good eye, sensing he was the center of someone else's attention. Brynjolf nodded at him but it seemed to be the redguard's presence that calmed him down.  
“What about you?” Brynjolf asked the man before him.  
“My sister was a slave. Sold into the life by our father,” the red guard explained.  
His smile twisted and there was rage in his eyes.  
“She would still be if not for Falin's father, Marius. When his wife and youngest were taken, that man was possessed. He tracked every lead , even if it led to nothing. And he freed every slave he found, returned those he could. I never thought to see my sister again until Marius sailed to the island. And Falin had made her so pretty.”  
That rage was gone, replaced by a soft chuckle.  
“Braided her hair, made her a necklace out of bow string and pretty pebbles.”  
He shrugged.  
“They gave back my sister and my time on this ship ensures that she'll never be a slave again,” he said.  
He cleared his throat, clearly done talking about himself.  
“All I'm saying is if our girl is in there, your friends will be safe,” he summed up.  
“Look!”  
The man perched in the crow's nest yelled out, surprising those below. He wasn't concerned, pointing towards the docks. Brynjolf couldn't restrain himself, rising, spotting Lilith instantly. She came into view first, the others trailing behind.  
“Is that the Jarl?”  
“He's alive!”  
Cries from the citizens rang out around them, their eyes zeroing on Ulfric who was indeed slumped against Miraak and Serana. Falin waved at the crew and he could hear a collective sigh pass through her men, even as his own throat seemed to tighten. Because Syra was not among them.

 

(Syra)

 

I hit rock, slippery rock, sliding across it, not knowing where I was but knowing it would probably not be good to slide off said rock. My intuition was right. I stopped my slippery exit, barely in time, my legs dangling off and water slapping my armored ankle. I took a moment, breathing, preparing myself for whatever horrid world would be my new prison. I wondered also how long it would take for said world's master to realize I was trapped there. I didn't get much time to dwell on that thought, the sound of glass screeching against glass drawing my attention. Instinct had me on my feet, slipping out of the way as a slate crystal drilled into the place my torso had formally occupied. I leapt, landing, just barely, on another rock.  
“All my planning,” sighed Amarenthine.  
She stood on the water that churned around us, unmoved as slate crystal ran under her feet. Her fingers danced and with it, shards broke away, flying at me. I threw my arms up, protecting my face and, more importantly, my eyes.  
“Finally, I was going to rid myself of Lilithianna. Master would have you and Miraak. But you couldn't let me have that, couldn't simply sit back and let it flow.”  
The shards didn't seem to be enough for her, a particularly sharp and long piece stabbing into my arm, right past the armor. I cried out, slipping back and falling on the rock. I could feel blood from my arm as well as the dozen or so cuts on my cheeks and I glared, defiantly, at Amarenthine. She didn't flinch at my anger, her fingers moving again, only this time her crystals retreated.  
“How much did it cost you to step through that portal?” she asked. “I know your history. By the gods, I practically wrote it.”  
“I don't believe that,” I declared.  
I smirked.  
“I've assassinated writers and other artists. They're some of the most stubborn targets. They never think that this is where their story ends, that this is how it ends, at the end of an assassin's blade.”  
I chuckled.  
“No, if you were a writer to my fate, you would know it wasn't a glorious one. You would have left me in Coldharbour or killed me before then.”  
“You died untold times in Coldharbour,” Amarenthine confessed.  
I took it as a good sign that her crystals, which had quivered in the air, waiting for their next taste of my blood, folded back into her skin.  
“I had nothing better to do, waiting as I did for Lilithianna's guard to fall, for her to settle into a state of complacency and for Alduin to return. I watched you. And every time you died, it was with a smile on your face, as if the skills you were learning, the survival was something to be ashamed of. Your sibling betrayed you, long before you ever found out your imprisonment was his fault. How you could die like that-”  
She stopped, some brief flash in her expression revealing a million different things.  
“Molag Bal didn't let me go,” I realized. “You did.”  
Amarenthine said nothing, her eyes narrowing just a bit, just enough to let me know I was on the right track.  
“I always felt like I was being watched and I was so sure that it was Bal. So certain that he was messing with me, letting me think, over and over again that I'd gotten away when really it was you,” I accused.  
And it made a heck of a lot more sense now. Molag Bal had plenty he could be doing, watching Dyre to make certain he was coming along, scouting for potential souls to corrupt. Why would he look inward at a pathetic soul he knew was trapped when he could strengthen himself? Why jeopardize centuries of potential growth to watch what was essentially a bug in a jar?  
“You knew my story,knew why I was there. You... you thought we were the same.”  
Today seemed to be the day for realizations and this one hit much harder than the one where Amarenthine was my rescuer. I stared at her, hard.  
“So why let me go only to work with my brother? If you thought we were alike so much, why align yourself with Dyre? Why try to kill me or imprison me in Apocrypha? You crossed Molag Bal. Why not Mora too?”  
“Because Lilith got to you first,” Amarenthine admitted. “And because despite the assassin you were born to be, the monster a dragon should have warped you into or the tormented soul that Dyre or Coldharbour should have made you, you were good. Born good and uncorruptable.”  
This seemed to frustrate her. Her expression darkened and for the first time, I noticed there was a splash of color to her eyes, a surprising green I didn't expect.  
“Why couldn't you even try?” she asked.  
Whatever cease fire she'd called abruptly stopped. Without even a twitch of her finger, shards darted towards me. I didn't brace, lashing out instead.  
“Yol Toor Shul!” I roared, the fire swallowing the smalls.  
More importantly, they hit the water, creating a curtain of steam that hung in the breezeless air. I wasn't certain how good Amarenthine's eyes were and I chose not to worry about them too much, leaping onto another rock and then another in a mad dash to the shore. It was graceless and the progress was slow as the water slicked rocks offered little traction but I managed to not topple in the water. I could only guess the steam had cleared as I heard the sound of glass shattering against rock just behind me. I swore and kept moving, choosing not to let panic quicken my steps, no matter that I was closer now to the shore. The current was strong and led to a waterfall. One that seemed to fall into nothing. Blinding pain exploded in my left ankle and I cried out, my automatic response to grasp my ankle which upset my balance, sending me falling into the water. Or would have. Strong arms reached out, catching me in a strong grasp, yanking me from the water as more crystals fell and thrusting me to the shore.  
“Cease Amarenthine!”  
The voice was laced with power, the likes of which surged, meeting the piercing crystal and stopping them mid air. The man that stood between her and I, built like a Nord physique wise but so much taller.  
“Tsun,” Amarenthine sighed, clearly irritated.  
She stepped across the water, pieces of herself falling aside to create a foot path.  
“Step aside,” she commanded.  
“Your master has no power here,” Tsun declared. “And so you have no power here.”  
He stared her down, no fear in his stance, his hand never moving for the weapon. He had confidence in that statement. Or confidence enough that he thought he could handle Amarenthine on his own.  
“Leave this place,” Tsun ordered, probably saving himself from whatever attempt she'd make to force her way past him.  
“When have you ever known me to be this easy?” she demanded.  
“Your father calls to you,” Tsun informed her. “Freed from the depths of Oblivion he calls you back to the Shivering Isles. As does the Lord of Madness.”  
I didn't miss the sharp intake of breath, the narrowing of those green eyes. The Lord of Madness. What was left of the Hero of Kvatch. The man she loved versus me, the person she felt compelled to destroy. I saw her gaze flutter to me. And perhaps if it had just been her lover, I would have won. But Tsun had thrown her father into the mix. In her place, if I knew Brynjolf and my father waited, I would have gone. Perhaps we were more alike than we seemed. She waved her hand, closing it harshly, letting her crystals swallow her whole in a sharp cocoon that shattered, the shards fading into nothing. And Amarenthine was gone. With one problem dealt with, Tsun turned his hulking attention to me, towering over me. I had clearly spent too much time in Skyrim, too use to looking up at everyone. Those hazel eyes held little emotion as he studied me, squinting as if he couldn't quite determine what I was.  
“Rise, Dragonborn,” he finally said.  
“You know who I am?” I asked.  
Because if he did, then he knew I wasn't the last and probably stood no chance against Alduin wherever the bastard was.  
“Yes,” he replied.  
He reached down, lifting me up, surprisingly gentle for a man of his heft. I mentally checked my ankle, realizing that Amarenthine's lucky shard hadn't pierced straight through my ankle. Perhaps it wasn't suck a lucky shard then. Personal inventory done, I looked at Tsun.  
“I'm not who you think,” I declared.  
“But you are who we need,” Tsun declared.  
There was no emotion in his voice. This was fact. I could have been anyone to him, the first dragonborn or the last. And he would have said the exact same thing. I was who they needed.  
“Come,” he instructed and he turned, his footsteps sure.  
Never wavering or faltering as he headed for the thick fog that seemed to settle around us, unnatural in its existence. I followed him, taking a deep breath as I made my way into that dense fog, both anxious and ready for whatever happened.


	36. Dragonborn

(General)

 

He still marveled at it. The Great Hall. Stories always found their way to him when he was a child, regardless that he was born amongst Dunmer. His light blue eyes did their daily scan of the room, taking in everything again. He couldn't believe he was here, amongst the great heroes, instead of nestled to the cold heart of the Dread Father. Perhaps even Sithis had turned his back on an assassin who so readily would sacrifice his pride to save both wife and child? He didn't mind too much, not today at least. Whispers had crawled their way back into the Hall. Shor had gone, leaving them express orders to stay their hand when it came to Alduin. And it seemed the dragon had returned once more, the great doors shut against the mysterious fog that the dragon seemed to bring with him. Arnan stood from his perch by the mead dispensers. He longed to be outside rather than trapped amongst the heroes who remained in the room. There were still a few, mostly the new heroes, dead and emboldened who did not recognize him, did not know him and asked for his story. He almost laughed, almost told them the truth.  
“I am an assassin of both Morag Tong and Brotherhood, who turned my back on all that to dedicate my last battle to Shor,” he wanted to say.  
Wanted to tell them that he'd met his fate in the most miserable of ways, laying in a field, torn apart from facing off against a beast he'd raised and monsters from Oblivion itself. The great doors opened in the midst of his self tearing thoughts and, along with every hero in the Hall, he looked to them. Not sure why, perhaps expecting Shor or maybe Alduin had taken to opening doors. The tension alleviated when Tsun stepped in. Which shouldn't have bothered him but Arnan found himself unnerved by the man. He didn't laugh or joke and seemed content to be that way. He talked, yeah, but past that he didn't seem to have much personality. Did having such thoughts count as blasphemy? He didn't take the time to ponder such thoughts further, as he would have. Because the next person to step through that door was his daughter.

 

(Syra)

Nononononono. My steps froze when I stepped into the Great Hall. I was the center of attention which made denying the blood stain on the impressive carpet kind of hard as I tried tucking my bleeding arm behind my back. Like that would help any. My gaze surveyed the Hall, surveyed the heroes as they gathered around me, curious and confused. No doubt because they'd expected someone else besides the bleeding and battered bag of bones before them. I stepped further into the hall, ignoring the gazes that followed me. Tsun remained by the door, stone faced, leveling a stare that seemed to say to the warriors “Don't even think about it.” Probably to keep them inside. In there place, I would have been out there, preferring to save myself rather than wait for some legendary fable to save me. Miraak proved that the legends were true though. Steinar did as well. I reached the long table, pushing aside plates of food and mugs of ale, studying the napkins I spied here and there until I found a small stack that were relatively clean, only speckled with ale and even that was forgivable. Despite my audience, I sat on the floor, briefly eyeing the smooth floor. Everything here seemed too perfect, too ideal. It was eerie. Drawing my attention back to myself, I wrapped the napkin securely around my bleeding ankle, gritting my teeth against the sting. The blood that had been staunched by my armor, thankfully made to fit snug against its wearer, flowed a bit more freely for my liking once the boot was off. If I survived and got home, I'd need to see a healer and fast. I had two more napkins, choosing to sacrifice one to wipe the blood that had seeped onto my foot. For the most part, it had already dried and I didn't have time to waste fully cleaning it off. I wiped away what I could, checked that my ankle's binding was secure and then shoved my foot back into my boot before I could regret it. Next came the bleeding wound on my arm, which hadn't stopped bleeding since that first crystal had passed through it. Of course, that was because Amarenthine had cut the armor open in her efforts to kill me. I uncuffed the gauntlet, letting it slide off and to the floor, grimacing as the fabric brushed the wound. It looked a lot worse than I thought, the skin already red and angry, fragments of crystal still lingering. I dug them out, a priority since who knew what Amarenthine could do with them.  
“This may help.”  
I looked up, vision obscured by the bottle of ale in my line of sight. I reached for the bottle, accepting it. To say nothing of the Nordic tendency to drink, I was pleasantly surprised to find this bottle was still full. I didn't ask questions, pulling the cork out with my teeth and pouring it generously on the wound. It wasn't perfect, wasn't the best fix, but I needed to be back in working order. I knew better than anyone that regardless of realm, Divine or Daedric, the effects on the living varied. Coldharbour had stolen enough from me. Calloused fingers wrapped around my wrist and I tensed, ready to lash out if the glare I shot at my helper failed as deterrent. And my heart froze as my eyes fell on the Nord before me. Those blue eyes met mine, a perfect match, given that they were the original owner. A wry smile painted its way across his face, the same face I remembered from the last time I'd seen him, playfully complaining that he was getting too old as he kissed my mother, laughing as she objected to the stubble along his jaw line. Stubble that was still there, still as deep brown as I remembered.  
“Father,” I whispered, voice shaking and low.  
I didn't want to say it too loudly, lest he be some trick conjured by this realm.  
“Syra,” he said.  
His eyes studied me, sadness in their depths.  
“You haven't aged a day.”  
There was more emotion than I'd ever heard from him in his voice.  
“I haven't,” I replied.  
What did I tell him? Did I explain that the monster that had killed him had succeeded in tearing apart our family? In turning his beloved into the same monster, in trapping his only daughter in the hellish realm of his master? Or did I lie? Was there a lie to explain how it was that I had gone centuries without changing?  
“Dyre's doing no doubt,” he said, his tone bitter but pained nonetheless.  
The truth it was. I was not so skilled as Brynjolf when it came to words anyway.  
“Yes. He made a deal with Molag Bal to trap me in Coldharbour. And mother is a vampire,” I reported.  
He swore beneath his breath, glancing around. Those gathered weren't subtle in their staring. They were clearly starved when it came to drama. He let out a frustrated huff and then, lacking anything else to do, he pulled my arm towards him, examining the wound a second before taking the ale bottle from me and pouring more into the bleeding maw.  
“How are you here?” I asked. “Nord or not, you served Sithis.”  
And this certainly wasn't the Void. My father did not respond, his focus on my wound but his face an open book. He was clearly pondering what he would say.  
“Sithis demands everything from us,” he finally explained. “Our souls, those of our children and our friends. Even if you'd walked away, become a priestess, Sithis would own you. He had claim on your soul, the one too weak to keep you alive at birth. When I turned my back on him and Akatosh gave you a dragon soul, I took you away from Sithis.”  
He didn't seem to feel too guilty and it made me smile a bit. His fingers spirited the napkin away from me, releasing my arm to tear it into strips.  
“The Night Mother stopped speaking to your mother about me, about any jobs. I knew that the only reason I was still sent out on contracts was because your mother made it so,” he continued as he bandaged my arm. “When I took you away, Sithis turned his back on me. I had no place in the Void and he had no claim to my soul.”  
He did a click glance around the Hall, barely seeing it, it seemed.  
“When Dyre attacked me, he didn't kill me. Tore me up pretty good and left me for dead. But I was alive,” he told me. “Near Skingrad and injured but I really thought I could make it home.”  
There was a wistfulness to his voice and it hurt. My father had always been happy, eerily so for an assassin, some said. He'd laughed and joked and teased often enough that it seemed he couldn't be touched by the darkness of murder or the occasion when death claimed a fellow assassin. He'd simply shrug it off, throw a joke around and just accepted that we dealt in death, whether it was ours or someone else's. To hear him now, to know he was so close to home and hadn't made it.  
“An Oblivion gate opened, near a small farm. I could have gotten away, could have left them to be slaughtered. But there was a kid, looked just like Dyre, before he strayed,” my father continued.  
He looked at me now and I could see where he was going with this. He'd loved us both, no matter that he'd sacrificed more for me. Dyre had been there first, enjoying stories and songs from our parents, their hope that he would prove a skilled assassin. He was their first born, my father's son. He was the heart of our family. Or had been.  
“I wanted to save him.”  
I didn't ask if he meant Dyre or the little farm boy because in the moment that my father had made his decision, centuries ago, it didn't matter. That boy had been Dyre, before we'd lost him.  
“I screamed to the Divine, to any that would hear me, to the Daedra even as I rushed into fight. I wanted to be heard and know that at least one saw, wanted them to know that I was a good father, despite the taint of Sithis on my soul.”  
“And Shor saw,” I surmised.  
“Yes.”  
He hung his head on that note, as if he had reason to be ashamed.  
“I abandoned Sithis,” I confessed.  
There were no words to describe how proud I was. How honored I was as well that he'd risked his soul to let me live. And how grateful that Shor had seen him. My father looked at me again, unsure of what to say as well so I went on.  
“No one came for me when I was in Coldharbour. I spent 200 years, alone and afraid and no one came after me or tried to save me. I felt angry. I hated the gods. Because Bal stripped away any memory that would comfort me, any emotion that was positive. I was a shell of who I was and who I was suppose to be.”  
I withdrew my arm, the bandages secure on it.  
“I was lost too. But I found my way and it led me hear to you,” I went on. “And I never thanked you, not once, for giving me a life. For ensuring that I'd make it this far.”  
I wanted my father, wanted to stay here with him, no matter the consequence. But those consequences were looking to mean the end of life and I could not sit and think of Lilith or Brynjolf dead without wanting to do everything I could to stop it. I took a shuddering breath, leaning forward and wrapping my arms around him. I had never been an affectionate child and could tell that this took him by surprise. I was too focused, remembering his scent that still clung to him even now, the faint but sweet hint of honey and deathbell, wanting to give in and remain tucked away. Instead, I released him and grabbed my discarded gauntlet, pushing to my feet. The gauntlet slipped on surprisingly easy given the bump the bandage made. I didn't spend too much time on it, marching for the large doors. Tsun turned his neutral gaze to me and, seeing I was ready, nodded, unfolding his tree branch arms.  
“I'm ready,” I assured him.  
“They will not help you,” he informed me, nothing I hadn't expected of course.  
I had seen their faces, watching me as I spoke to my father. I was a dragonborn but not the last and somehow, it went against their delicate sensibilities. For such great warriors, they were showing themselves to be cowards towards the unknown. I wanted one last glance of my father but knew if I turned, feeling even the slightest bit of uncertainty, he would see it and step forth. Instead, I drew Steinar's sword, the hilt biting into my hand as my body rejected it. I ignored its protests, curling my hand tighter, adjusting to the weight of the blade. It had felt like forever since I'd held a blade and I closed my eyes, swallowing around the lump in my throat despite how dry my mouth was. I focused on that blade. It was a mix of emotion, a blade in my hand again. It felt wrong and right, merging and I knew why. But I was no longer a victim, I was the last thing that stood between destruction and the world newly opened to me. I was a protector. I opened my eyes and squared my shoulders. Tsun, sensing my determination, or perhaps seeing it, stepped aside, pushing open the door. I didn't thank him, didn't look at him. I stepped through that door, into the fog and I let my voice ring out.

 

(General)

The shout tore apart his fog, his curtain of security. He did not hide his dissatisfaction, his claws digging deep into the remnant of his wall. His. Much like he'd filled Skyrim with his allies, his forces and his influence, he'd conquered this realm as well. That she would come here as well. Even caged in mortal flesh, she was his equal, much stronger than the true Dragonborn he should have been facing. And he watched her walk through the slivers of fog that were steadily dissipating, sword in hand. A picture of defiance. Beneath the grey tinted skin of her mortal vessel, he could see Nithrogr, see her curled in defiance, ready to oppose him once again. Once more she would turn her back on duty and loyalty to what should have been her kind. For mortals.  
“Nithrogr, you come to meet me in my realm,” Alduin intoned and she gazed up at him.  
Her blue eyes narrowed and she lifted that glinting blade, pointing it straight at him.  
“My name, you arrogant ass, is Syra. And this is not your realm,” she declared.  
“I have no time to converse with a mere mortal,” he retorted. “Nor do I wish to waste my time on a barbarian such as yourself.”  
She swung that blade, one handed, in a dangerous arch.  
“Then let's stop wasting time,” she insisted. “Nithrogr has nothing to say to you. But we both agree your scales would make impressive armor.”  
Her arrogance dug at him, stabbing deeper than any of the wounds thus far inflicted on him or the sword still digging into his flesh. He launched himself from his wall, his rage and strength tearing at the stone. With a flick of his claws, he thrust the clutched stone at her. She dodged, leaping onto the first stone to crater into the ground before leaping onto the next, using it as a mere stepping stone to meet him as if they were equals. She lashed out with that blade, just barely making a small mark on his scales while his jaws snapped at her. He bit down on armor and as he squeezed, he felt the subtle tell as it gave, just a bit. He bit harder, in his blood rage hoping to bite her in half and end this minor headache. Acting fast, she twisted enough, stabbing her sword into his eye. It was a move he hadn't expected but should have and it hurt. That she had hurt him enraged him more. Like an accursed mortal child, he shook his head in displeasure, shaking her as well and releasing her from his jaws. She sailed through the air, hitting the ground with too little force in his opinion, the force of it enough to knock her sword aside. She grunted and rolled, moving even before he did. And he noticed the slightest hint of a limp. He chose to attack, his motions jerky, his depth perception greatly undermined by his missing eye as he tore across the space between. She saw him coming, changing from defense to offense, charging to meet him halfway. He was not at all surprised when Nithrogr emerged from that human skin, the change like water over rocks before angry jaws snapped at him. He ducked, reaching out with claws, digging them into her flesh painfully, tearing indiscriminately and holding tight even as she seared his face with flames and attacked him with her teeth and claws. All equally as sharp as his but ultimately useless in the face of his hate. She was not without options however, her wings flapping, lifting them into the air, something he did not have the liberty of doing as he ripped through scale to exposed skin beneath. He'd just tasted blood when her body beneath him shrunk, the scales and reptilian skin fading from his grip as she shrank back into that mortal form, falling away from him with ease. She didn't seem panicked as she plummeted, tucking and rolling as she hit the ground. They hadn't risen very high, probably of her own design. She rolled to her feet, sprinting and sliding the last few inches for her sword. Alduin circled above, noting the blood pouring down her side, her armor torn to shreds. Pride surged inside of him as he landed not too far from her, approaching slowly, taunting her. She was all but dead and they both knew it. It did not stop that defiant look of hers, did not kill the determination in those ice eyes as they peered from the curtain of her black hair. He growled, the time for words past as far as he was concerned, his body quickly closing the space between them, his hot breath in her face, fanning strands of hair and scraps of armor. Even still she never wavered, her stance fixed though shaky as blood pooled at her feet, her hands curled around her sword. Nithrogr was in those eyes, staring through her host and daring him with every fiber of their shared being. If she was so ready to die, so be it. He would see her tried by the very same flames that claimed her once before. On that note, he summoned forth fire, felt it licking the back of his throat, heating his chest. And rather than react, try to fight, perhaps try and take out his other eye with her pathetic little sword, she closed her eyes. He wished to watch her eyes as she realized her doom was upon her, realizing that these flames were for her and her alone, to return her once more to the sweet nothingness she had been. But know was enough, when it came down to it.  
“Yol Toor Shul!” he roared.  
He crowed his achievement as the words left his mouth, ripped through the aether towards his opponent. And very quickly, that was met with dread as he realized his own shout was a mere echo of her own.  
“Spaan Haas Qah!”  
Knitting together faster than his fire could, a shield formed around her, a pulsing bright white, protecting her from the flames meant to eat her alive.  
“No!” Alduin roared, realizing this and moving.  
To do what, he didn't know but he tore across the distance between them, an air of murderous intent clouding around them. She wasted no time, moving out of his path, scrambling away from him, trying to keep distance. As she did, he could see the flesh on her side, the fresh wounds he'd given her healed to a much less harmful point. The blood flow had receded and there were only the thinnest of cuts. It enraged him more but not enough to cloud his mind. He swung at her with his tail and rather than dodge, she hunkered down, taking the hint which should have stunned her. Instead, she used it as an opportunity to grab his tail, climbing her way onto his back even as he thrashed and bit at her, his Voice doing little as well to thwart her given that he did not wish to harm himself. She held tight to his scales, her very life depending on it.

 

Tsun watched the World Eater as he tore apart the ground beneath him, his actions that of a caged animal as he went after the tiny halfling on his back. Did his heart yearn for battle? It did. The girl was no warrior and yet she was facing down the dragon to rival her own. Why she did not fight in that form he wouldn't know and would not ask. The sword in her hand, the one she'd put effort into not losing again, glinted in the weak light that illuminated the realm. She was angling it, angling her body, for some move she had planned. Alduin rolled, crushing her beneath his weight but when he righted himself she remained, body pressed as close as she could be to the very scales she'd come to rely on. That she had used his own body to betray him fueled the World Eater's rage and he took to the air with force, waves of dust carried in a full circle away from the source displaced. Tsun watched all this calmly.  
“This is not your destiny,” he said to no one in particular.  
He was not asked his opinion and if he had been, if he had also been a man who voiced his opinion where he was not concerned, he would have told her. Would have instructed her that her interference was pointless as her chance of success was low. If that discouraged her, then so be it. Fate could not be changed, he had found. It was in the air that Alduin was finally free from his pest, twisting before he perfectly arced, forces conspiring against her until her grip slipped and she fell back towards the ground, Alduin diving along with her. She was calm, looking towards the approaching ground.  
“Fus Roh Dah!” she roared at it, buying herself a few more precious seconds as the shout lengthened her time in the air by mere seconds.  
Time seemed to slow, though Tsun knew it hadn't. He watched the events play out, events that would remain in his mind so long as his existence continued. He saw the World Eater land, saw that glinting sword rise, clutched in the hands of a girl not fated to be in Sovengarde. Saw the determination in that young face as she fell towards the black dragon of doom, sword plunging with all her strength into the skull of the monster she was not fated to fight. He realized throughout that she'd been making the most gods awful roar, a mix of dragon and mortal, a small detail in the face of what she had just done. She had killed the World Eater, his cursed soul vanishing, his body fading like a bad dream while she stood among the would be carnage, looking like a goddess of vengeance and unbridled fury. She stood there, body heaving, armor torn and body beaten and still managed to throw her head back, yelling at the sky in acknowledgment of a hard fight won. Her body gave way though and she dropped to the ground, no attempt made to catch herself as she fell face first to the dirt.

 

Lilith gasped. She felt the shift, the one only Miraak seemed to feel. She knew instantly what it was. She rose from the barrel she'd been sitting on, the group having returned to the ship. Her jaw dropped a bit.  
“What is it?”' Serana asked.  
She sat next to Lilith's barrel seat, cuddling Ashanti, the big cat having taken a liking to her.  
“He's dead,” Lilith announced. “Alduin is dead.”  
“What about Syra?”  
Brynjolf stepped forward. He'd been below deck with all the refugees from Windhelm, helping to feed and coax the shivering masses from their stupor. When he'd returned was unknown but he was staring intently at her, his anxiety in his face. She could see it, that he needed Syra to be okay. She honestly couldn't tell him one way or another.  
“I don't know,” she admitted.  
“Then where do I go to find answers?” the thief demanded.  
Lilith wanted to shout at him. She could see how tense he was and knew the tone and bombardment of questions were due in part to his anxiety. That he'd never see her again, that she was once again lost for centuries. Lilith felt the same way, felt the ache that usually accompanied significant losses in her life. She'd lost mentors,friends and lovers before and each time it changed her, took a piece of herself. She'd faced the unknown and knew the darkness it could embed in one when left unanswered. And she was leaving that darkness in Brynjolf know, unable to give him the answers to save him. He sensed her hesitancy and her confusion and scoffed. His anger wasn't directed at her but at the situation. Even still, he glared daggers at Miraak. The man had been in a state of shame. He realized when it counted that he had not been ready to face his destiny and had doomed Syra to a fate unknown. Miraak had boarded the boat and then sat far away from the rest, staring at the city, as anxious as the rest of them to know Syra was okay. A roar caught their attention, that of a dragon. It preceded the gray dragon that soared into view. Lilith's heart dropped. She didn't have it in her to fight dragons. Not now when her priority was Syra. What was worse was the fact that this dragon was not alone, a mud colored dragon flying alongside him. Adding to the peculiarity, Lilith realized that the dragons paid them no heed, the large beasts flying on, attention focused elsewhere.  
“Where do you think they're going?” Serana asked, following their movement as Lilith did.  
Together, their gazes found the mountain. The tallest mountain in Skyrim in fact. Realization dawned on Lilith.  
“There!”  
She pointed, enthusiastic in her movements.  
“We'll go to the Throat of the World, to Paarthurnax. He'll know what happened to Syra.”  
Or at least she hoped so. If not, they would be back at square one, this time with no waiting answers.

 

She faintly remembered the hulking man, remembered his hand on her shoulder, turning her over and urging her back to consciousness. Everything seemed to be so enhanced, more intense and vivid. He'd glowed with ancient energy, even before he'd parted his lips and uttered those words to cast her out. Why he was fading from her mind made little sense. What did was that she was standing in snow, shivering and not happy about the cold. Surrounded by dragons. They studied her like she was a curiosity and indeed she was. Steinar's sword was at her hip and she wanted to draw it, show them the might that had slain their master, the World Eater. But she was exhausted and wanted a nap more. Which would have to wait. As Paarthurnax landed before her, stirring up more snow but also shielding her from the reptilian eyes of her audience, she stepped forward, enjoying the warmth that radiated from his scales. Or seemed to.  
“Dragonborn,” he greeted, bowing a bit.  
“Syra,” she corrected.  
Her mouth hurt. Her lip was split and she tasted blood when she talked. Great.  
“Alduin is slain,” Paarthurnax informed her.  
His voice was sad but there was strength there. Syra blinked, her senses overloaded. She closed her eyes, fighting a growing headache.  
“Where does this leave us?” she asked.  
“You are free to follow whatever path you choose. You can return to the mortals or be among your kind.”  
“I am not a dragon,” Syra declared.  
“As you wish,” Paarthurnax relented.  
He seemed to think she'd made her choice, moving to leave.  
“Wait!”  
Syra would have reached out but she was too cold, arms wrapped around her for warmth. Paarthurnax turned back to face her, waiting.  
“Alduin almost killed me” she confessed. “But I, I don't know, it was like something awoke in me. I protected myself. I even healed myself to a point. Do you know how?”  
Paarthurnax studied her, his ancient face giving nothing away.  
“Alduin hid many secrets in places he knew his foes would never go,” he finally intoned. “Could never go. You can go to those places, learn his secrets. Learn those things. But it will take you away from Skyrim.”  
“For how long?”  
“That, Syra, depends on you.”  
Syra sighed deeply, leaving the shelter and heat of the old dragon. The wind wasn't too bad, the mountain standing high above it all. The sun was up in full force and she realized how exhausted she was. Every part of her ached, very much like she'd, well, been tossed around like a dragon's rag doll. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to meet back up with her friends, wanted to celebrate and pretend that Windhelm was intact, that Dyre hadn't ruined lives and so many things were guaranteed. And most importantly, she wanted Brynjolf. Her heart ached even as her mind flashed back to that critical moment, the new Shout. What if the next was dangerous? What if she couldn't control it? What if she hurt him? She already knew what she had to do, turning back to Paarthurnax, letting her eyes shift to the reptilian slits of a dragon as she gave in to Nithrogr just a bit. The dragons watching stirred, clearly excited.  
“Alright Paarthurnax,” she said. “Lead the way.”


	37. Jud Do Dovah

(General)

She enjoyed the sun, letting it light up her face. If all went well, it would probably be the last time the sun graced her face without being accompanied by a pestering burn or over sensitivity. She looked to Serana, who sat in a dark corner, nose in a book. She had many questions for the vampire but their relationship, despite 2 and a half months of cohabitation, was rocky.  
"Good morning, Arch Mage."  
Lilith lifted her hand in acknowledgment, still not fully use to the respect she received. Brynjolf's mercenary friends, the ones currently working for him to keep Goldenglow Estate safe, were of different stock than the people she usually encountered in Skyrim. It was a pleasant reminder that for all the block heads, the ones that refused to admit that there was no master race, that believed their race was superior simply because it existed, there were more out there who acknowledged the need for diversity. And that was what she hoped she protected. Her hand still lifted, the sun took the chance to glint off her ring, her wedding band. It dimmed her mood and she dropped her hand, curling it in her lap. The ring reminded her of Farkas. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine he was behind her, watching over her , ready to jump to her rescue. Only, he would never be again. Amarenthine had seen to that. Lilith would never forget that day. The crusty sheets of the inn, the whimpers of Windhelm's refugees as they relived nightmares of imprisonment, or the face of the courier that approached her, letter in hand. Above all else, she'd never forget finding Farkas, his body half buried in snow and human again. He'd run from Riften, to aid their battle and had found Amarenthine instead. It enraged her all over again. However she was not a creature of revenge, not like Amarenthine. No doubt, though, her half sister would continue to be a threat and Lilith would get her chance to avenge Farkas. An odor that spread through the house drew her from her dark thoughts and she looked worriedly down the stairs. With most of the College still a smoking pile of rubble, Lilith had had to move her mages elsewhere. And Brynjolf had politely offered her Goldenglow. Between the isolation and surrounding water, it was perfect. Still, there'd been enough destruction in Skyrim as of late. Perhaps they could keep Riften on its feet?

Serana eyed Lilith rather than the explosion. She was not a teacher, of who were fairly capable, and Brynjolf had given her assurances that the mercenaries that patrolled were all keeping an eye on Ancano. It was important he not get too close to Serana. She'd only just managed to keep her vampirism a secret thus far. No longer of course. Her father was a growing threat, evidence of his influence everywhere. Lilith seemed convinced Amarenthine was pulling the strings though. Serana was doubtful but not enough to turn down help. She went back to her book, pretending to read when her mind was a million different places. First to Brynjolf, their gracious host. He was running the show in the Thieves Guild, scraping back together what he could, investigating Mercer's disappearance and coordinating with the Dark Brotherhood's very own Listener, Hekth,to ensure that Mercer and Astrid, when found, would be dealt with. They may have been writing each other on an almost daily basis but neither one was bringing up the one thing that they both clearly wanted to. Syra. Even Serana wanted to know where her former blood sister had gone, though the blood bond had long since faded. By some miracle, Syra had gone against prophecy and slayed Alduin. Only for her and every dragon in Skyrim to simply vanish as if they'd never returned in the first place. Serana grimaced, the reek in the air becoming more unpleasant. She wanted nothing more than to firmly teach the wretches what she knew but knew better. Ancano watched the students in lesson and if she or Lilith joined them, they'd warrant more of his attention. He'd tried and failed to follow Brynjolf but the man was slippery and had evaded his Thalmor tale. It helped that Riften did not kindly welcome Ancano either. She wondered if he'd try following her and Lilith tonight and how far he'd get before he realized the danger they were walking towards. A part of her was excited to return home, the viper's nest it may be. The other part flashed to Dyre. He'd been buried when the roof collapsed in the Palace of Kings. His body had been smashed and any one of them could have killed him. Lilith had insisted they bring him instead to Hekth. And despite being his mother, she was a contrast of emotions , glee and sorrow in her face at being presented her broken son. He had come to Harkon, her father, warped and Harkon had indulged him. She hoped that perhaps it had been one oversight, that maybe things could be like before. Or perhaps better in that the dark times stayed behind them rather than shattering their family again. Only time would tell. Her first priority was getting Lilith to the castle. Her gaze trailed out the shuttered window, the one she'd sealed tightly closed when she'd walked in. Through the slants, she could see Miraak. Without Alduin, he was purposeless. And the dragons were all gone. He was a man with nothing, save for the armor on his back. He'd stayed with them only because Lilith had insisted. He hadn't defeated Alduin but he could redeem himself. If he worked with them. Serana had doubts she could sneak him in under her father's nose however. Lilith was willing to become a vampire to serve the cause. Miraak was not. And while Lilith radiated the arcane and presented herself in such a way that one would assume she was innocent, Miraak could not. He was too mysterious but also had an air of danger. And that air would instantly identify him as a threat to her father. Too bad. He would have made good back up.

She clutched the paper in her hands, staring out from the mast. She barely heard the men below her. They usually were louder but seemed to sense something was wrong. Once again, she unfolded the paper, staring down at the face that stared back at her. Syra, captured on the yellowing paper that spelled out her guilt years ago. For being an assassin. And while she could have thrown the woman every which way and into the next week, something about her had stayed Falin's hand, her magic. And of course, no good deed went unpunished. Falin's hand crushed the paper now, her annoyance leaking out of her in noticeable waves her magic tearing its way down the mast and shoving into the water ahead, rousing the waves. She hadn't had a plan starting out. How did one track the Dark Brotherhood? How was it possible to find assassins when they didn't want to be found? Her best lead, her only lead, had been Syra. And the former assassin turned hero had chosen to flee. Falin jumped a bit when her First Mate landed beside her, crouching. He smirked but stayed silent as he pointed ahead.  
"We've got company," Thaille announced.  
Given that they'd sent word ahead, she wasn't surprised by the waiting dockhands, gritty and weathered by working the docks. Falin knew what a dock worker looked like. The work was hard and the men and few women who were cut for it usually were muscled, their bodies toned and tanned from the sun and heavy lifting. That is if they were Man. The Mer were just as toned but not always as tanned. And they were few and far between. However, she knew what Thaille meant. The woman he was indicating stood apart from the prepping dockhands. She was lithe, body wrapped in hide armor, a hood secured over her head. She was watching the Queen's Ruby, gaze filled with purpose. And not the purpose that hinted at pirating. She didn't covet the ship but she clearly had some interest in it. Or at least, someone on board.

Astrid hid her smile well but knew she didn't keep the pleasure off her face. The woman with blood red hair was watching her, pacing atop her mast, clearly eager to approach but mindful all the same. Astrid could respect a cautious woman. She'd looked over her shoulder ever since Delvin had left her in Falkreath. Mostly because she'd run away from the Sanctuary, rather than towards it. And no doubt her treachery had been discovered. She'd gotten the summons to Windhelm and had chosen instead to hide. Now though, well, what borrowed time she had she'd spend making certain it paid off. She could do nothing against the psycho Priestess but damn if she couldn't stop Syra from hunting her down. Or the rest of the Brotherhood.  
"Your staring is becoming unnerving."  
She met those green eyes, wondering how she hadn't sensed the woman's approach and realizing she'd been mentally plotting a course to freedom that would take her around those who sought her out.  
"Nice ship," she remarked.  
Probably not the best thing she could have said, given how those eyes narrowed. Astrid responded with a smile.  
"I believe we can be of use to each other," she admitted.  
She didn't have time for games. Not when her own life was on the line.  
"Do tell."  
"I know who you are and why you're here, Falin," Astrid insisted.  
Falin crossed her arms, the picture of casual. Only Astrid could feel her magic well up, the slight push against her own body evidence enough.  
"I'm here to establish another trade route. Around the rebellion," Falin said.  
The girl wasn't lying, not completely. Astrid's contact had informed her of the official reason Falin had been sent to Skyrim. But the girl had her own reasons. And she seemed to sense Astrid knew them, her magic pushing against Astrid more insistently. She hurried on, having heard rumors of what the woman before her could do. And had done.  
"I know where you can find an assassin," she blurted out, tone low to avoid drawing attention to herself.  
Something she'd failed at by being so out of place on the dock. Better a few dock hands though, who couldn't be bothered to much acknowledge her, then an innkeeper or other busybody that thrived on gossip and strange people. The less anyone mentioned her, the better chance she had of avoiding the throng of people gunning to find her. Falin's brow furrowed at her words, the woman studying her intently, as if she could read Astrid's mind. Her green eyes darkened slightly and Astrid felt as if she was being crushed.  
"Talk fast," Falin urged.  
"In exchange for what I tell you, I want safe passage," Astrid hurriedly said.  
"The Queen's Ruby isn't leaving port," Falin replied.  
"Oh like you don't have the power to launch any ship docked here," Astrid quipped.  
She felt claustrophobic.  
"I do indeed," Falin admitted. "But I don't know you well enough to do so for you."  
The pressure vanished and Astrid collapsed to the dock, gasping, enjoying the space again. Falin kneeled over her and Astrid tensed.  
"I'm a merchant's daughter. If a deal seems shady, chances are it is. And the person bringing me the deal is as well," she said, voice low and even.  
For someone so rumored to be crazy and wild, she was showing immense clarity and focus here.  
"Let that be a warning to you," Falin advised. "Now get away from my ship and stay away from me."  
Astrid did not have to be told twice, scrambling away like a mad woman. She looked over her shoulder, surprised that Falin wasn't watching her retreat and had instead turned to look out towards Morthal and its swamp. However, as she slowed a bit, something slammed into her from behind, an unseen force. Falin no doubt. Astrid ran that much harder.  
"Harsh, captain," Thaille remarked, joining Falin as she stared at the marsh.  
"Talk to the harbor master," Falin instructed. "She boards no ship at this dock."  
"Aye, aye captain."

He was beginning to hate the Cistern, understanding Rossara's need for freedom. He'd spent so much time in it he felt as though the world was closing in on him. It was a relief to be done, to know the books were balanced. Even if that balance spelled trouble for the Guild. They were broke. Thieves without a dime to any of their names, let alone the Guild's name. He'd laugh if it didn't mean that some of the greatest thieves in Skyrim were pulling risky jobs without a means in or out in case the situation went harry. What made it worse was that he honestly didn't care too much. He passed through the archway that had been Riften's main gate, the heavy doors still not replaced. Pure luck that the Hold hadn't been ransacked. The dragons were gone but Skyrim was still dangerous. He must have been lost in thought, surprised when someone kicked the sole of his shoe, upsetting his balance. Surprised, he turned around, glaring at Vex. She didn't seem to care that he was mad, crossing her arms, meeting his challenge.  
"Well, Guild Leader?" she challenged him, chin lifting.  
And he'd probably have argued with her had he not seen the faintest flicker in her eyes, something making him pause. She had something to tell him and was testing him. Probably to see where his head was. Which meant it had to deal with Syra. Brynjolf crossed his arms in response. Rossara had all but cut ties. He had some faint idea she was still in Skyrim and if not, well, she'd crossed the border then. He didn't suspect her to be back but he'd gotten a letter, courtesy of a falcon. She'd dropped hints about dragons but that was weeks ago, an obscure reference that sounded more as though the dragon was more focused on leaving rather than coming back. He hadn't replied to that message and so Rossara had chosen to write to Vex.  
"Out with it," Brynjolf ordered.  
Had he mentioned his lack of patience? He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, not enough reason for Vex to forgive him for being an ass it seemed. She was studying his face and he knew that if she saw something she didn't like, she would walk away. He relaxed his face, trying to play off his impatient tone. It worked enough that Vex uncrossed her arms.  
"Rossara's been coming across dragon remains," Vex explained. "She's been tracking them, mapping as best she can. And they lead well into Cyrodil."  
She lowered her voice.  
"Ross got close enough once and once alone. Caught a dragon fighting a warrior-"  
"Syra was too scrawny to be mistaken for a warrior," Brynjolf argued, already prepared to discredit whatever story Rossara had come across.  
"Only for said warrior to change into a dragon and fly away."  
Vex's eyes drilled into him, as if she expected him to do something with that information. He ran a hand over his face.  
"Vex," he sighed.  
"Its Syra!" she insisted.  
"Vex, you can't be sure."  
"Because there are so many other people able to transform into dragons."  
Vex smacked his arm.  
"Brynjolf!"  
He groaned loudly and in frustration, glaring at her.  
"Vex, she chose to leave!" he snapped. "If that's Syra, cutting her way through Tamriel, slaying dragons, she chose to leave. Which means there was never anything really there."  
Vex went red in the face. She didn't appreciate his tone, his words or his temper and he didn't care.  
"If she wants to come back or if you want to run after her, go ahead.. But I refuse," Brynjolf declared.  
Vex glared at him, eyes beady. She desperately wanted to hit him, he could tell. She looked at him like that a lot, hating the wallowing mess he'd become. After a moment, she sighed and turned away from him, her retreating back his focus. At least until she was well out of ear shot.  
"Did you hear everything or just the fun parts?" he demanded, tone cold.  
"Enough," was Miraak's response.  
The man stepped away from his hiding place, taking a stance at Brynjolf's side. His face was grim. The man had very little joy left. He'd hauled ass to the Throat of the World with them, the home of one of two dragons that could reveal Syra's fate and location at the time, only to be informed by the Greybeards that Syra was gone, Alduin was dead and Miraak...well, he was not welcome. They'd seen him and known immediately that for Miraak to be free, Steinar had to be dead. They also knew the legacy he'd burned into the world, the forgotten tale of Miraak. He was not a man of peace, they'd claimed. And thus he had no place in their fold. Brynjolf had wanted to point out the man had no place in theirs either but he'd had more pressing concerns. Syra, at the time. He'd worried that she was dead somewhere, her body rotting. He'd lived with that image for days before the rumors poured in. Contacts spanning Tamriel speaking of dragons. And a woman with them. No one saw her face, no one could describe her past a woman with dragons. He'd thought it was Amarenthine at first only for the rumors to transform and become her transforming into a dragon. Bright side, Syra was alive. The downside being that she'd left of her own free will and stayed away for the same reason.  
"I could go after her," Miraak offered and Brynjolf smirked.  
"Don't act like you're doing me any favors," he spat.  
Miraak studied him in his peripheral.  
"Very well," the man agreed. "I won't act. You have turned your home over to mages. It is probably the fullest it will ever be and you have proven to be a very charismatic man who prefers crowds probably as a means to steal a few coin purses. However, these few months you have preferred sullen isolation over the company of people. You push away well meaning friends who offer you leads to the woman you love, you don't chase her yourself and you thus far have done nothing to move on."  
Brynjolf glared hard, not liking the implications or the analysis being thrust at him. Miraak seemed unbothered however, continuing on.  
"I knew Syra a very short time but knew Nithrogr much longer. Whatever her reasons for leaving, they were not on a whim. Her inability to keep in touch says to me that she is someplace a simple courier cannot go as the rumors surrounding Syra always come when she is battle or heading elsewhere. There are someplaces we mortals cannot go. But Syra is not completely mortal and therefore the rules are different."  
Miraak tilted his head, as if all this was just coming to him.  
"I suspect that her reasons for leaving are in line with the fact that she is not completely mortal. A dragon's nature is to dominate. Perhaps defeating Alduin awoke more of the dragon in her."  
He shrugged.  
"In which case, leaving was perhaps the best choice she made."  
"No," Brynjolf declared. "It wasn't."

The dark surrounded her, whispering across her skin, the faintest touch to them. Even still, she willed her skin to jagged edges. Edges that hadn't existed, once upon a time. The dark recoiled, not bleeding but the injured party despite that. Gods did not bleed.  
"Amarenthine," greeted Hermaeus Mora.  
He materialized and she began to wonder when it was the gods had all become so theatrical. Was it to show each other up? To marvel and wonder with their power, drawing as much attention to themselves as was possible? She was already growing tired of this but knew that the best course of action was submission. So she bowed, strands of her brown hair rippling down her shoulders.  
"Master, I have failed," she confessed.  
There was bitterness and regret in her tone and it, at least, was genuine. She'd been so certain. So sure that everything would work out. Her debt to Mora would be paid by Syra and Miraak being trapped forever in his realm to study and observe at his leisure, Lilith would be dead or else trapped eternally in a crystal. Her attempts to salvage the mess before Mora turned his attention back to her had failed. Hence why she bowed before him now.  
"Most disappointing," he intoned, almost lazily.  
Amarenthine gritted her teeth, biting the inside of her cheek. Instead, she stared down at her hands, gloved now. Since she did not have to play Priestess any longer, she'd rid herself of the gaudy robes that dared call themselves armor, returning to the leather armor she so often wore. She glared at the gloves, forcing her hand not to curl into a fist, schooling her features to avoid showing how she was seething inside. A mix of hatred for Lilith and hatred for the floating mass before her. No doubt, he knew her hatred for him. There was little about her he didn't know and she was powerless to prevent that. Jyggalag's daughter or no, she was not on the same level as a full god. And he knew it.  
"It is your luck that I have remedied this problem," Mora continued, his voice near monotone.  
Still, his words held promise and she lifted her head, confused but at the same time, excited by the possibility.  
"Please, let me redeem myself!"  
She was not so excited as to forget herself at least. She could see the satisfaction in Mora's eye, smugly lording it over her that he'd known her plan would fail. No doubt, this backup of his was going to be a wallop.  
"Seek out Molag Bal. He has extended a hand," Mora instructed. "And given what he has offered, we cannot afford to turn him away as an ally."

Her gaze went East, searching the water, as if it would part and give her all the answers to her questions. The breeze slapped her face, tossed her hair, and she was numb to its abuses. There was salt in the air, as expected. What really had her attention was her heartbeat. It raced in her chest, excitement, fear, anxiety. The same as when she was released into Skyrim. It was so odd that the very same emotions, stronger now as they were not ghost whisperings of real emotions, found themselves in her company once again. The only thing absent was the dread. There was no taunting, no cooing that her release was temporary. Coldharbour was a memory, a bad dream, one vanishing slowly as she realized that she was really and truly free. Of course, she knew she'd have to work to keep it that way. Some part of her could feel eyes turning towards her, brought on by her defiance of destiny. She had slayed the World Eater in place of the Last Dragonborn. Her, the dragonborn lost to shadows and mysteries. The wind cut off as a hulking presence stretched over her, scaled wings blocking it and she glanced up, observing the underside of Odahviing's jaw.  
"Thanks," Syra managed, brushing her hair behind her ears.  
She stood up, stretching. Months later and her body still gave the occasional indication that she wasn't quite healed yet. However, her mission was too important. For the second time since coming to Skyrim, she'd found purpose. First in defeating Dyre and facing Alduin and now in finding out every secret it was that Alduin had hidden away, hoping one could explain Nithrogr.  
"Ready to go?" she asked the dragon hovering above her.  
He looked down at her, his gaze open.  
"Kolos hi bo zu'u fent," was his answer and she smiled, nodding, glad that she had won his loyalty.  
"Are they ready?" she asked and the dragon nodded as well.  
Syra nodded again, gaze returning to the sea, her hand resting on the sword at her hip. Steinar's blade, of course. She clutched the hilt a moment, as though she intended to draw it when really she was focusing, finding her strength in the very sword she'd slayed Alduin with. It did its work and she released the sword, leaping from the cliff she'd stood on, enjoying the rush of wind, the crashing of the waves as they churned their displeasure at being interrupted by land. And right before she hit said waves, her body shifted, long, reptilian and scaled, slicing upward and soaring East.

The appearance of dragons was a shock. Well hidden by the rock formations on the coast, their rise into the air had come as a shock. They watched as the sky seemed to darken with their wings, the sound of them moving near deafening. And just as soon as they appeared they were in the distance. The dragons had left Tamriel.


End file.
